Melting Hearts
by Anna Greenway
Summary: Sequel to Melting Snowflakes. Mulder, Scully, Doggett and Reyes struggle to cope with the aftermath of their ordeal in the mountains. They return to Washington, and with the help of each other and their families, attempt to survive the ensuing trauma.
1. Chapter 1

_TITLE: Melting Hearts (Sequel to Melting Snowflakes)_

_AUTHOR: Anna Greenway_

_E-MAIL: Friendship, MSR, DRR, Other/Other_

_SUMMARY: Mulder, Scully, Doggett and Reyes struggle to cope with the aftermath of their ordeal in the mountains. They return to Washington, and with the help of each other and their families, attempt to survive the ensuing trauma. _

_**NOTE!** __This is the sequel to Melting Snowflakes. You will need to know that story in order to understand this one. You can find it at my site, the link for which is in my profile._

**Melting Hearts ****(Work In Progress)**

Sequel to Melting Snowflakes

_**Chapter One - The Advice of Doctor Moore**_

On the day after the four agents had been found, the Scully clan had a hard time just getting to their daughter's ward, let alone figuring out what to say. First they had had to fight their way through the media, who were camped outside the main hospital entrance, and who by now recognised them instantly as the relatives of Dana Scully, and shoved cameras in their faces and shouted questions which Margaret Scully had not even dared to ask herself. How was Dana coping? they asked. Had she talked about the experience? Did she _agree_ with her daughter's decision to eat the bodies of her FBI colleagues? Margaret, whose emotions were already strained from nearly two weeks of believing her daughter was dead, elbowed her way through the crowd without saying a word. She felt Bill's hand on her back, and from the pressure could tell without even looking that her son was every bit as angry as she was. His wife, the kind and motherly Tara, was relatively sympathetic, pausing briefly to smile, tears in her eyes, and saying that they were relieved Dana was OK. Then she pushed her way inside with the rest, while the crowd continued to shout, held at bay by members of the Canadian police force.

The elevator bell chimed when they reached the third floor, and the three of them stepped out, their pace automatically slowing, as though with dread of what lay ahead. They passed the nurses' station, and when Margaret glanced at them she saw a young girl elbow the arm of another, who immediately hurried into the back rooms. Margaret realised, with a grim feeling seizing her, that she was now a celebrity. Mother of Dana Scully, the agent who had survived a plane crash, who'd watched 18 people die, who'd fed on their bodies to survive, who should be dead. But they had barely gone a few feet when a doctor, a man in his 50s with a serious expression, hurried out from a side door, introduced himself, and invited them into his office.

They had politely followed, and discovered that the doctor turned out to be Doctor Moore, a psychiatrist with expertise in post-traumatic stress. He waved for them to sit down on a leather sofa and positioned himself in a c hair opposite, his hands clasped together, looking, Margaret realised, a little nervous, like he was about to bring them bad news. She had glanced at Tara, who looked as nervous and confused as she was, and then looked back to the doctor, who wearily began a half hour spiel on what they could expect in regard to Dana's mental heatlh.

The effects on her daughter's mental health had only barely crossed her mind. She had felt such relief at hearing she was alive, and that three of her closest friends had survived also, that she had been able to push the other concerns away. After all, Dana had survived several traumatic events in the past, and still remained a strong, kind woman. But the doctor quickly painted her a different picture. They must remember, he said, that Dana had survived several traumatic events, not merely one. She had survived a plane crash. She had witnessed mass death and not only of strangers, but of friends and colleagues she had worked with for many years. Then they had to eat the bodies, the people they knew, to survive. She had hiked over a hundred kilometres in snow, never expecting to make it out alive. And then there were many events they were only beginning to hear about, things the FBI were putting together in the mountains which did not make sense. And not to mention the media attention. No, all in all, he thought all four of them had a high risk of developing post-traumatic stress disorder. And it was a crippling disorder, he'd said, one they might never recover from. So it was essential, in these early days, to know what to expect.

After that, Margaret had listened to the most horrifying list of possibilities she could have imagined. Some of it she understood; the physical conditions such as weakness, insomnia, vomiting, fainting. She felt she could deal with those. But the emotional responses were more fearsome, and though Doctor Moore hypothesised, he also emphasised that such experiences were so rare that anything might happen. But he said they could expect them to be extremely emotional. They might go from being fine one moment to crying hysterically the next. They might lash out, become irritable and angry. They will have also developed a very strong bond between them and, for a while, might not cope with being separated. It was this part of the conversation that Margaret paid attention to the most; the one where he said how they could help. In her mind she summarised it. She shouldn't force them to separate. She shouldn't force Dana to tell her what happened, but always be ready to listen. She should love her daughter no matter what she threw at her in return. She should be useful by helping with the everyday chores. And she shouldn't force her to go back to work too soon, but recognise her outlook on life will have significantly changed. When the doctor had finished, Bill thanked him keenly, shook his hand, and Margaret felt him take her elbow to lead her out of the room, toward the ward. But after hearing what lay ahead, she felt very much like walking in the other direction.

They walked to the double doors of the ward in silence, up to the policewoman who was sitting at the entrance as guard. Margaret automatically started rummaging in her bag for her purse. Yesterday they had been asked to show three forms of identification before they were allowed in. But today, the woman smiled, said "It's OK", and stood up to open the door for them. Then Margaret knew she'd become a celebrity.

_**Chapter Two - The First Hurdle**_

Dana Scully preferred the new ward. They had been moved there the previous night, when the hospital staff had bent the rules to allow male and female patients to share the one room. It was special circumstances, they said. The new ward was bigger, had a large old-fashioned window, and most importantly, she shared it with Monica, John and Mulder; her fellow survivors.

It was the morning after now, but it was still early. The sun was still on the horizon, its beams shining straight in through their window. She had been watching the night sky for the past few hours, unable to sleep, wondering what lay ahead for them. So far they had held up well, but as a doctor she knew that the last two weeks would be the easiest part of the whole experience - the part where someone merely closed their eyes before having a nightmare. The enduring desperation for escape had made it relatively easy. There had been adrenaline rushes, a need for problem solving, and isolation from the reactions of the outside world. Now, they were alone with their thoughts, and being harassed by the astronomical force of the entire world's media. And the only people who understood it were the three people she shared the room with.

Even the aftermath of their rescue had been relatively easy, there had been so many distractions. They had been thoroughly examined, had IV drips jabbed into their hands, had even been given flu vaccinations to protect their obliterated immune systems which their doctor feared would now allow them to get sick all too easily. And then there had been the rush from the outside world: the FBI flying in, the media crowding outside, and their families who had arrived mid-afternoon and stayed until well after sunset. Monica's family had hardly left. They had trotted in with the first hint of sunrise and were now chattering in soft, rapid Spanish. They had pulled the curtain around Monica's bed, as though the material would prevent Mulder and Doggett from being woken by the sound of their voices. And though Scully didn't speak Spanish, she knew from the tones of their voices what was happening.

She had trouble liking Monica's parents. At first, they had seemed kind enough. It was clear they adored Monica. They had smothered her with hugs and kisses, refused to let go of her until Doggett, Mulder and herself had all exchanged smiles. They were also presentable, impeccably dressed in designer outfits, with wide smiles as though Monica had not been through the worst fortnight of her entire life but on holiday in the pacific. And when they left to go buy Monica some pyjamas and clothes for the trip home, they had returned from the shopping spree with the most expensive satin pyjamas money could buy. It was clear to Scully that they were rolling in cash, and went some way to explaining where Monica had picked up her own smiling nature and her taste in clothes. But it also explained why Monica had moved to the U.S. and it made Scully feel a deep appreciation for her own family, who were not rich but who had been sensitive to the point of annoying, telling her firmly that they would help her in any way she wanted, if she could just tell them what she needed. She had a terrible feeling Monica's family would not be so helpful. The tones of their voices from behind the curtains were much too cheery, and from the sound of it, Monica was putting on a strong face, matching them smile for smile.

The curtains whipped open with a screech and Scully looked over to see them exchanging goodbye hugs, Monica pressed hard against them. She saw Mr Reyes whisper something in her ear, and then kiss her, before standing up and creeping to the doorway, waving at Scully as they left.

Scully mouthed a goodbye, and then looked over at Monica, who sunk back against her many pillows and sighed.

"They're not annoying you, are they?" Scully asked, giving her a sympathetic look.

"Huh?" Monica looked up, and Scully saw she was surprised to find she wasn't the only one awake. "Oh, no, they've been great."

"You sure?" Scully knew she was lying and wanted to give her the opportunity to tell the truth, help if she could.

"Sure," Monica said, and threw Scully a lazy smile. "They're offering to track down the best doctors in the country. Apparently he's heard of someone at Harvard."

"How do _you _feel about that?"

Monica sighed, and her smile vanished. "I just want some sleep, really." She shook her head wearily and pushed herself to her feet, slipping off the bed and reaching out to pull the curtain back around. "I can't believe how tired I am."

Scully nodded, understanding that feeling perfectly herself. She watched Monica disappear behind the curtain again and listened to the sound of her arranging her blankets and settling down for a rest, and then, almost immediately after, she heard Doggett give a loud yawn, and then the voice of Mulder, whom she hadn't even known was awake.

"Have you been awake all night, Scully?"

Scully smiled to herself, not able to believe that even in a crisis, and without even looking at her, Mulder still hadn't lost his touch.

"I saw most of it, I think," she said. She left out what he would already know; that every time she closed her eyes she had seen the mountains, seen Skinner and Kim, seen the bodies ... and only through having her eyes open was she able to convince herself that she wasn't actually there.

"I hear your family, Dana," Doggett muttered sleepily, and Scully looked up in time to see her mother gingerly open the ward door and look around before setting her worried eyes on her. She crept inside, held the door open for Bill and Tara, and the three of them approached her bed, saying good morning to Doggett and Mulder as they passed.

"Dana," her mother said, hurrying over to her and sitting on the side of the bed. Scully let her mother hug her, trying to put some enthusiasm into the embrace to match her mother's. Then her mother pulled back and Scully felt her slide her hand through her hair. "How have you been?"

Scully hesitated. She had no idea how to answer such a simple question. The truth and the lies both seemed inappropriate. "Well," she said, "all right, considering."

Her mother nodded and Scully turned to welcome Tara, who kissed her and then sat herself down in a chair beside the bed.

"We'll have to be quiet," Scully warned, as Bill leaned down to kiss her cheek. "Monica's asleep."

Bill nodded, stood back again and then slipped several newspapers out from under his arm and put them onto her bedside table amongst the bouquets of flowers. "In case you're curious."

Scully eyed the front page of the Vancouver _Sun _and saw a huge photo of the crashed plane leap out at her. She closed her eyes as every muscle in her body seemed to clench painfully. "Oh God ..."

"Bill," her mother ordered sternly, "take them away."

Scully fell into her mother's gentle arms and put her head on her shoulder, breathing heavily. Through her own tears she heard Mulder ask Bill for the newspapers and Bill's footsteps as he took them over to Mulder's bed.

"Sorry, Dana," Margaret Scully said, rocking her from side to side. "We should've known."

Scully pulled back, wiping her eyes. "No, it's OK. It's just -"

But she broke off and shrugged. It was just that she couldn't bear to think about it. Just that her emotions felt amplified to a hundred times their normal strength. Just that she wished she wasn't living this moment.

"I know," her mother finished.

There was a moment's silence. When Scully looked up again she saw Mulder pretending to be engrossed in the newspapers, and Doggett sitting up in bed, watching her with tears in his eyes. At the look on his face she felt her strength return and she nodded to him in thanks, and understanding.

Bill returned and sat down in a chair next to Tara. "The good news is we've been in touch with Charles and he's on his way. He says he'll meet us in Washington as soon as he can."

Scully had mixed feelings about all the fuss. On the one hand she was grateful for her family's presence and support, not to mention touched by the way they had all dropped everything to fly to Vancouver, but on the other completely lost as to how they could help. But before she could take the thought much further, they were interrupted by the screech of Monica's curtain being flown back and Monica running to the bathroom, just inside the doors to the ward.

"Monica?" Doggett said, immediately worried. Scully saw Mulder's eyes snap up from the newspaper.

Scully threw back her blankets and swung her sore legs to the cold floor.

"Dana?" her mother said, but Scully ignored her and hurried to the bathroom. The door was partially open and Scully put her hand to it, slowly pushing it open all the way.

"Monica?"

She put her head around the door and saw Monica kneeling in front of the toilet, vomiting into the bowl. Scully hurried forward and crouched beside her, putting an arm around her waist to hold her steady. Monica was so white she looked as though she was going to faint any second. She could feel her sway under her hands. Then, without warning, Monica fell sideways, lowering herself clumsily out of Scully's grip and onto the coolness of the tiled floor. Scully put her hand on Monica's forehead, feeling the sweat underneath and her burning hot skin. When she glanced up she saw both Mulder and Doggett in the doorway, with her family behind them.

"I'll get a nurse," her mother said, and disappeared from the crowd.

Scully looked back down to Monica. Her forehead felt slightly cooler and her eyes were focusing again, meeting Scully's with cringing embarrassment.

"It's OK," Scully said. She moved her other hand to hold Monica's, squeezing it gently. "It's all right."

Monica lowered her eyes, looking away, but Scully felt her squeeze her hand in return.

"We should get her to the bed," Doggett said, walking forward.

"Can you walk?" Scully asked her.

"I don't know," Monica replied. Her voice was shaky.

Bill came striding forward. "I'll take her."

He knelt down beside them. Scully's instinct was to object, but he was already gently lifting Monica into a sitting position, and Monica appeared to be too weak to protest. Scully let go of her hand.

"Can you put your arm around me?" Bill asked her.

Monica lifted a satin-covered arm and put it around the shoulders of Scully's brother. Scully watched as he lifted her with ease, one arm around her waist and the other under her knees. It was as though there was no weight to her at all. Mulder and Tara backed out of the doorway to let him through and Scully's eyes met Doggett's, who swore quietly.

Scully reached forward to squeeze his shoulder, then forced herself to her feet and followed Bill to Monica's bed, where he was gently lying her down. Margaret Scully returned with two nurses and they immediately set to work applying damp cloths to her forehead and raising her feet to return the flow of blood to her head. Doggett walked around the bed to Monica's other side and sat down beside her, taking her hand in his. Scully noticed that Monica had tears in her eyes and walked forward, taking the curtain in her hand and intending to pull it around the bed so she could cry without an audience, but as she began to pull Mulder put his hand over hers and gently removed the material from her fingers. And when she looked over her shoulder to meet his eyes, she understood. The pain was not to be hidden. It was only through witnessing it that their families could even begin to understand it, and if they couldn't understand it they couldn't possibly help.

_**Chapter Three - Assistant Director Jana Cassidy**_

Later in the morning, after Doggett's family had arrived and Monica's parents returned, after the nurses had forced them all to try eating a decent breakfast, and after they had all calmed down from the group cry they had had around Monica's bed, Assistant Director Jana Cassidy showed up in the ward. Doggett had expected the FBI to make another appearance, but had been hoping desperately that he would be wrong. But the moment had come, and just when he was beginning to think they might be lucky, AD Cassidy walked through the door.

Doggett had been talking quietly with his parents and sister, who lived in Georgia but had flown immediately to Canada upon hearing of his survival. His parents were retired, but his younger sister Christi, who was only Monica's age, had taken emergency leave from her job as a fourth grade teacher at their local elementary school. For the past half hour or so, Doggett had been steering the conversation heavily in her direction, wanting to talk about anything other than his current situation, and she had, mercifully, sensed this and gossiped sweetly about her students and the events of their school. While she talked, Doggett had looked at her blonde curls and kind blue eyes and hated himself for getting her involved in this. His baby sister, who he had always looked after, who he wanted to shelter from the insane pain he felt within. And who, he knew, would sock him one if she knew.

And then the door opened, and in came Jana Cassidy, and he thought he would have preferred to spend another six hours listening to the perils of teaching.

She was professionally dressed in a grey suit with a skirt, and her heels clicked on the floor as she entered. Christi stopped talking, and Doggett noticed everyone else in the ward fell quiet too.

"Good morning," AD Cassidy said, pausing in the doorway, not knowing which direction to proceed in. Doggett was relieved that she wasn't smiling, that she looked just as sombre as the room felt.

"Assistant Director," Monica greeted, and made an effort at a smile.

"Call me Jana," she said kindly. Doggett took this as immediate confirmation that she wanted something and looked at her warily as she acknowledged the greetings from Mulder and Scully, and as Monica's father stood up.

"It's OK," he said, letting go of Monica's hand. "We shall make ourselves scarce. I bet you'd like to talk to these four heroes alone, huh?"

"For a few minutes, if I may."

Doggett leaned forward to give his mother and sister goodbye hugs and watched as they gathered their things and headed for the door. Scully's family soon followed, and then the five of them were left alone. Doggett sighed, resigned himself to the worst, and pushed himself off his bed, walking across to sit beside Monica to avoid having to have the conversation over the expanse of the whole ward. He sat beside her and she took his hand in hers. Scully and Mulder left their own beds and sat in the chairs vacated by Monica's parents.

"Sit down, Jana," Mulder said, waving to a chair beside him.

"I'm sorry for the intrusion," she said, sitting down and smoothing her skirt. "I imagine you don't feel much like being questioned, nor being deprived of the company of your families." She paused as she looked around at them. Doggett knew she was taking in their conditions, and from the way her eyes narrowed, pitying them. Her eyes passed over Doggett and Monica's tightly linked hands, Mulder and Scully's sleepy eyes, and the overflow of cards and flowers on the bedside tables. "I won't pretend I know how it feels to be the victim of this kind of tragedy. I confess I'm finding it difficult enough just being on the spectator side."

"How can we help?" Doggett asked, keen to cut to the chase. Out of the corner of his eyes Doggett saw Monica glance at him. On his hand he felt her rub her thumb gently over his.

Jana looked up at him. She took a deep breath. "We are under pressure from the media to provide a statement. We were hoping you would be willing to help us out with some of the facts."

"What kind of facts?" Monica asked.

"The circumstances of the crash, a timeline of events. Nothing in the way of emotional responses, or information which you may be uncomfortable in providing. Merely the facts to inform our press release."

Doggett saw Mulder sigh. He put his head in his hands, ran his hands through his hair. Scully's soft eyes were on him.

"Is that all?" Mulder asked.

Jana hesitated and Doggett felt his stomach sink. She looked awkward, worried about how they would react.

"We were also hoping you'd be willing to help us with another issue, to do with the families of those who didn't make it."

Doggett felt Monica's hand stiffen. "They want to know how they died," she said.

"More or less," Jana said, sighing. "They need closure. Anything you can share would be a huge help."

"Between that and a chronology of events that's pretty much the whole story," Scully said, with a touch of irritation.

Jana nodded. "I suppose so."

Doggett looked away, down at the floor beside the bed. He shared Scully's irritation, Monica's hesitance. It was easy to understand why the FBI needed the facts, but he knew going through the story was the last thing he wanted to do. No doubt they would have most of them already, they merely needed confirmation that what they had deduced was correct. The FBI wasn't stupid. But then his thoughts turned to the families, and his stomach clenched uncomfortably. He could imagine them mourning, crying, needing to be able to picture what had happened, when their son or daughter had died, needed to know it was quick and painless. And there was also the media outside, who would not stop harassing them until they gave them something.

It was a few moments before he heard Jana speak again. "You are welcome to have your families present, if that would make things easier. It'll be quick and informal. We'll try to make it as painless as possible."

"It's no fairytale," Mulder said, his voice low. "The families might be better off not knowing."

"I can understand that," she said, "and we certainly won't be setting out to make them feel worse. But they do have a right to know."

Doggett let go of Monica's hand and slipped off the bed. He walked aimlessly until he found himself in the bathroom. There he sat down on the toilet and put his head in his hands, wishing his hands could take away the pain, not make him have to tell a story that everyone would regret hearing. He thought of those they had lost. Of Holly, who had effectively committed suicide. Of Follmer, who had shot himself. Of Skinner, who had circled the cliff's edge, not wanting to leave Kim, not knowing what had happened to her. He even thought of Colton, who had gripped Scully's arms, begging her to kill him. And the others … so many others …

His vision clouded with unshed tears, but through the watery haze he saw a pair of satin pyjamas kneel down in front of him.

There was a gentle voice. Monica's voice, and her soft hands covered his wrists, pulling his arms away from his face.

"John …"

He let his arms fall away and looked into her eyes that were holding tears of her own. He blinked away his own tears, wiped them away, and then looked up to see Scully and Mulder watching sadly from the doorway. When they saw he'd noticed them they closed the door behind them and leant against the sink. Mulder had his arm around Scully's shoulders.

Monica sat back, but left one hand on his knee to balance herself. "What do you think?"

Scully looked at them, her gaze moving from Monica's eyes to John's. "I knew they'd do this."

"I don't see how we can say no," Doggett said heavily.

"I don't think we can," Mulder said. "I mean imagine if it were any of your families. Our luck could've run out. It _should've_ run out. They would have demanded the same information."

"That hardly makes it easy to give," Monica said.

"What about your families?" Scully asked. "Would you want them present?"

"It'll be hard enough even without them there," Doggett said.

"Yeah," Monica agreed softly. Then she looked up at him and Scully. "But personally, I'd rather only tell it once. Because they'll ask, sooner or later."

Doggett looked to Scully, and saw her eyes accept the logic in Monica's statement. To tell it once was a nightmare, to tell it twice was unthinkable.

_**Chapter Four – Telling the Story**_

It quickly became obvious to Fox Mulder why Deputy Director Kersh had sent Jana Cassidy to interview them instead of coming himself. He knew from the newspaper articles that Kersh was still busy at the crash site in the mountains, but that certainly hadn't stopped him from visiting the previous day. No, he was aware it was a very carefully calculated move. For one thing, none of them had had good experiences with Kersh and he would know that they would not pour their hearts out to him as easily as they would the gentle, understanding Jana Cassidy - the one who had bribed them with a plane trip home straight after the interview, who had insisted on flying their families free of charge. Also the one who had greeted Scully's mother as an old friend, and who, they quickly realised, had met several times over the course of the agonising twelve day wait back in D.C.

The four of them had finally been given the all clear to get dressed and prepare to leave, and Mulder had put on a pair of jeans, shirt and leather jacket that had been dropped on his bed by Mrs Scully, who had apparently dropped in to Dana's apartment on her way to the airport to pick up some clothes for her, and had opened the drawers to find his there as well. Mulder had chanced a glance at Scully, and saw that she was biting her lip. Unable to see her add another burden to her already substantial collection of worries, Mulder smiled and thanked Mrs Scully like a gentleman. She smiled at him in return, and then hurried over to her daughter's bed and ushered her behind the curtain. Mulder was at least grateful that Mrs Scully had bigger concerns than receiving blunt confirmation that her daughter was in a relationship, and apparently living with, Fox Mulder. But then, he thought, they all did, and normal rules and everyday worries were being shoved aside like a government handling a national emergency.

After they had dressed and packed, they all proceeded down the corridor to the enclosed waiting room AD Cassidy had borrowed for the purpose of the interview. She was seated on a sofa in front of the coffee table, busying herself arranging the outdated magazines into a single pile and pushing them to the side. Beside her was an agent Mulder didn't know. Mulder lowered himself onto a three-seat sofa opposite her, and was soon joined by a brave-faced Scully, who sat next to him, and an exhausted-looking Doggett, who sat on Scully's other side. Monica shunned the armchairs in favour of perching on the wide armrest next to Doggett, and when her parents walked past to take seats to the side of the waiting room, she threw them a confident smile, and her father shot her a wink. Scully's family quietly filed in a few seconds later, her mother already with tears in her eyes and Tara with a pocket pack of tissues in her hand, and then Doggett's, who took seats in armchairs without a word.

Jana addressed the families first. "I do have to ask you to be as quiet as possible. I also ask you to understand that this may not be easy to hear, and that any details spoken of in this room are not commented on outside of this room."

She waited as there were nods all around. Mulder looked around at their faces and saw every one of them was apprehensive, nervous about exactly what they were going to hear, but knowing they needed to hear it. Margaret Scully was absent-mindedly smoothing down her pants, over and over, Tara was holding hands with Bill, Christi Doggett was trying to catch her brother's eyes, and her parents had sunk deeply into their chairs with sad expressions, watching Jana Cassidy. As for Monica's parents, Mulder still wasn't sure what to make of them. He was not yet sure whether they were faking strength for Monica's sake, or whether they really did fail to see the implications of the situation. Either way, he sensed trouble. He also noticed that Doggett, Reyes and Scully were all refusing to meet their eyes, and were instead focusing on Jana and a manilla folder on the coffee table.

"All right," she said. "Agents, this is Tony McMillan, our media liaison officer. He will be recording this discussion and taking some notes."

Mulder gave him a polite nod, and watched as he turned on a small digital voice recorder and set it on the table. A finger pressed record, and then he turned to a fresh page of his notebook and raised his pen, ready.

"This is Assistant Director Jana Cassidy with Agents Mulder, Scully, Doggett and Reyes, meeting for an informal discussion of the events surrounding the crashed plane in the Rockies mountain range two weeks ago."

She opened the folder and her thin fingers pulled out a map. She unfolded it and spread it out on the coffee table. Mulder saw several places were already marked in, including the small town they had left on their way to Vancouver, and the location of the crashed plane. A ruled red line joined the two.

Jana looked up at them, inviting them to begin. Mulder sat forward on the edge of the sofa.

"We left Hume on the evening of the 14th," Mulder began. "We had been delayed a few hours because of the weather, but took off around eight o'clock, destined for Vancouver. About ten minutes into the flight, when we were above the Rockies, we began to experience severe turbulence. Extreme weather meant visibility was zero. There were alarms ... and the plane crashed into the snow."

Jana Cassidy nodded. "What happened then?"

Mulder fell silent, remembering the mass of blood and bodies, the screaming, the howling gale outside. Scully slipped a hand onto his knee. He took a deep breath to gather his thoughts, and looked up again to see Reyes shifting uncomfortably and looking back at him, brown eyes filled with the same image he was seeing himself.

Doggett took the lead, his voice thick and tired. "The back of the plane had been torn off. The wind was coming in. We were relatively all right, but there were ... a lot injured. Several were dead."

"I understand this is hard," Jana Cassidy said, "but if you can, I need you to tell me the details. Who and how." She opened the manilla folder and pulled out a small stack of photos. "I have some names and pictures here which might help." Slowly, she lined up the photos over the top of map. Most of them were those held by the Bureau, and each had the agent's name printed underneath. There were also two of the pilots, provided, Mulder presumed, by the families. Jana lined them up in three rows of six. "Just anything you might remember."

Mulder wondered again why they'd agreed to do this, why it couldn't be enough for the families to know that their loved one was dead, and whether there was any real value in relating specifically how it had happened. He saw Reyes shake her head and lean back, unwilling, and unable to go further. Doggett sighed and did the same and Mulder saw the two of them exchange a look doubting they could relive the story at all. But Scully removed her hand from his knee and sat forward, perching on the very edge of the couch. Her tear-filled eyes slowly moved across each photo, taking her time, trying to recall the details without any of the emotions. Mulder felt a sense of respect and love soar within him, that she was even able to look at the photos, which was more than he, Doggett and Reyes were able to do. And if it hadn't been for Scully, he knew the interview could very well have ended right there.

Scully slowly picked out the two photos of the pilots and held them out for Jana. "The pilots died upon impact. They had multiple head and chest injuries."

Jana took the photos. Mulder saw Agent McMillan start to scribble. Scully returned her attention to the lines of photos.

Slowly she selected another four, agents who Mulder could only remember as being dead bodies. "They all died instantly."

Again, Jana took the photos. She passed them to Agent McMillan who copied down the names next to the information Scully had given: instant death.

Next Scully tapped a nail on a picture of a middle-aged woman named Patricia Reese. "Uh ... this lady was alive." Mulder noted how Scully refused to refer to the dead by their names, therefore being able to mechanically proceed through the facts and refuse the emotional connections. "She had breathing difficulties. I'm not completely sure, but I suspect several of her ribs were broken, probably a punctured lung. She succumbed to her injuries about five, ten minutes after the crash."

And so it went on. As Mulder and the entire room watched, Scully proceeded through all those who had died within the immediate aftermath of the crash. Agent Cornwall, who Mulder remembered as having half his leg severed and screaming in agony while his blood soaked the floor, but whose death Scully summarised with, "Uncontrollable bleeding from a leg wound." Agent Wright, who had died silently, unconscious from the moment of the crash, but who Scully suspected had internal bleeding. And Agent Cellich, who was just a kid, but whose intestines had spilled out over his lap, and who had died staring straight ahead, in shock, unsaveable. One by one Scully handed the photos to Jana Cassidy, who took them in silence. But when she got to Tom Colton, she stopped, her fingertips under his name. Then Mulder sat forward himself and very slowly, slid the photo out from under her fingers.

"Agent Colton," he said, passing the photo to Jana's outstretched hand. "Severe head injuries."

Then he met Scully's eyes and in them he saw the first tear fall. He lifted his arm and put it around her shoulders. She took a shaky breath.

Mulder saw Jana's eyes soften sympathetically. "Would you like to stop?"

Scully quickly wiped away the few tears that had escaped and vigorously shook her head. "No, I'm OK."

Mulder let his arm fall slightly, rubbing her back, and he met the eyes of Doggett and Reyes, who were both barely holding back tears of admiration, understanding, and sympathy. Doggett, who Mulder knew had wanted nothing to do with the interview, now squeezed Scully's shoulder briefly and sat forward, taking over, as though inspired by her strength and ashamed of his own fear.

"Uh ..." his eyes moved over the photos which only seconds before he had been unable to look at. "The rest survived the crash. Ourselves, AD Skinner, AD Follmer and Kimberly were all relatively unhurt. Holly had a nasty gash in her leg. We managed to bandage it, stop the bleeding. And these three," he separated three photos, "had internal injuries. They remained unconscious."

Jana nodded. "So you were left waiting for a search party."

"Yeah," Doggett said. "We tried to block up the hole in the plane to keep the warmth in, and we all put on extra clothes. We tried to keep the unconscious agents warm, but …"

"There wasn't much we could do," Reyes broke in softly. "They needed to be in a hospital."

Doggett nodded in agreement. He picked up one of the three photos and held it up, looking at the face. Mulder recognised it as the man on whom Kim and Monica had performed CPR, desperately trying to bring the dead man back to life, desperately denying they were helpless; the man Scully had finally forced them to quit trying to save.

"He died during the night," Doggett said. "We performed CPR, but had no success."

He handed the photo to Jana, who added it to her pile of the dead. She said nothing.

Doggett turned his attention to the remaining photos. Mulder knew who was next: Holly. Doggett fell silent. Mulder opened his mouth to continue the story but Reyes got there first. Her slender fingers reached out and picked up Holly's photo, and the four of them looked at the happy face it contained. It was the Holly they had only barely known before the crash. The Holly they would have, in all honesty, preferred to know. Instead they had seen this happy, smiling woman as a heartbroken soul on a freezing mountain range, standing amongst dead bodies and hating herself for having survived when so many others died. They had seen the Holly who couldn't bear the situation they'd found themselves in, the Holly who had snuck away and chosen to die.

"Holly," Reyes said, her voice barely remaining steady as she said the name. She looked up at Jana's expectant face, then back down at the picture. "She had survivor's guilt."

Mulder took over, seeing Reyes' hesitance over how to explain that Holly had committed suicide, and that they had slept right through it.

"We were all exhausted from the long hours on the case. We fell asleep. We woke in the early hours to find her gone."

Jana narrowed her eyes. "Gone?"

"Gone," Mulder repeated. "She had walked off into the snow. We quickly found her tracks, gave chase, but when we stumbled upon her …"

"It was too late," Scully finished.

Mulder saw Jana let out a held breath. Her hand reached out to take the photo from Monica, but it was shaking a little now, and he wondered how long her professionalism would last.

"She froze to death?" Jana asked.

"Yes," Monica replied.

"And what happened then?"

Monica gave a half shrug. A tear slipped down her cheek. "We carried her back to the plane."

There was a silence. Mulder heard someone across the room sniff, heard Agent McMillan scratching out paragraphs in his notebook. Mulder looked over at the door, away from all the faces in the room, trying to gather his strength and resist the urge to flee. But however much he longed to stand up and walk out, he knew he couldn't, because he would not leave the others to deal with it alone, and if they could go on then so could he.

Jana waited until Agent McMillan stopped writing and then she looked up. "What happened next?"

"Nothing," Monica said. "It was a long day and night of waiting. We expected a rescue. We had no idea at the time that we were so far off course."

Jana glanced away for a moment, hit with guilt and many what ifs, but Monica went on as though she hadn't noticed.

Her eyes returned the remaining photos and she picked up yet another one; the photo of the second unconscious agent to die.

"He died the next day," she said. "On the sixteenth." She then picked up the photo of the third unconscious agent. "And the seventeenth. Neither of them ever regained consciousness. They died without pain and we sat with them, held them as they went."

Mulder watched her carefully as she spoke, reading her body language rather than hearing anything she was saying. There were still tears in her eyes, but she spoke with confidence.

Jana gave an encouraging nod. "Keep going, you're doing well."

But Mulder knew what was next: Follmer, and he wasn't the least bit surprised when Monica instinctively looked toward them, wanting someone else to take over the story. Her confident posture of only seconds before appeared weakened now.

Mulder tried to give her an understanding look and picked up the thread himself. "We were starting to doubt whether there'd be a rescue. Assistant Director Follmer found a radio among the wreckage and managed to tune into a station. We heard that you'd had no luck, and that the weather forecast was blizzards. We knew time was running out."

He chanced a glance at Monica, but she appeared to be handling the conversation, and encouraged, he went on.

"Follmer became nervous. He thought we stood a better chance trying to hike out. He knew the FBI would have to give up its search, and that we would become weaker with each day. He tried to leave. Agent Reyes managed to talk him out of it, but …"

"He shot himself," Jana finished.

"Yes," Mulder said. He knew they had dug out the bodies from under the snow, and they would have quickly put together a picture of suicide. They may have even done ballistics testing on the bullet and found it was from Follmer's own gun.

Again, Mulder looked at Reyes. She was avoiding all their eyes, and instead looked across the room at her parents. Monica's mother was crying silently, but her father inclined his head, as though telling her he was proud, and encouraging her to keep herself together and make it through. But though Mulder couldn't deny her strength in not crying, the fact that she wasn't worried him. And as he looked at her parents, he saw instantly that neither of them had known about their daughter's relationship with him. And Monica, it seemed, found it too difficult to enlighten them. He caught Scully's eyes, which were equally concerned, and he was glad when she reached across Doggett and gently took Monica's hand. Monica clung to the hand, and Scully gave a small tug on it, urging her off the armrest and to move closer. Doggett slid an arm around Monica's hips and slid her onto his knees. Mulder saw her shoulders were shaking slightly, and for a second thought she was going to collapse, but Scully held her hand tighter and then Monica took a deep breath and flicked her hair back over her shoulder, ready to go on. And her parents, Mulder noticed, appeared completely clueless that she was reacting to anything other than the torture of seeing a boss commit suicide. But he knew, from the looks of both Doggett and Scully, that both of them knew exactly what he knew; that Monica's parents knew nothing.

"The Bureau of Meteorology has told us that there were blizzards for three days around that time," Jana said. "We are presuming that that's when the avalanche occurred?"

"Yes," Scully said. "The night of the nineteenth."

"Frankly, everyone's astonished that you managed to survive it."

"So are we," Doggett said bluntly.

"We were lucky," Scully said. "Agent Reyes and I were awake and up at the time. We managed to dig everyone out before they suffocated."

Jana looked impressed.

"But it was close," Scully added.

"And there were no lasting effects?" Jana asked. "You were all OK?"

"Yes." She paused. "At least physically."

Mulder saw her glance at Monica, and knew the two of them were sharing a memory far beyond what they were telling Jana. He knew the terror they must have experienced as they dug through the soft snow. He knew he and Doggett had only made it by seconds and that Scully and Reyes could very well have been left there on the mountain by themselves.

Jana took a deep breath. "So you waited out the storm, heard the search had been called off, and decided that the only course left was to hike out for help."

"That's right," Monica said. "It was the twenty-first when AD Skinner and Kimberly left."

Jana lowered her eyes slightly. Mulder had expected her to criticise their choice of Kimberly and Skinner as the ones to go, but was surprised, and hugely relieved, when she let it go.

"The weather forecast was wrong," Monica said. "We'd checked it several times."

Jana nodded sympathetically. "The weather can change so fast in the mountains."

There was a pause.

"When we recovered the bodies we found that Kimberly had a broken neck," Jana said. "We are assuming that a blizzard struck while they were out, and that in the low visibility, she slipped on the rocks."

Monica nodded.

Jana then looked as though she was going to say more, but instead she shook her head and sighed, and a terrible silence engulfed them. Mulder looked at Scully. There were tears in her eyes. Monica was holding her hand in both of hers. Doggett looked a million miles away. Mulder put an arm around Scully again, desperate to share the sense of mourning and guilt that they both felt from nine years of working with Skinner, the boss they had come to accept as a friend, and the two of them began to cry.

"He was a wonderful man," Jana said softly.

Mulder looked up at her through his watery vision. With a jolt he saw that she was crying.

She met their eyes. "He was my friend, too."

_**Chapter Five – At the Airport**_

"You can wait in here," the flight attendant said, leading the four of them into the hidden staff lounge filled with low, dark blue couches. It was enclosed, therefore allowing them some privacy from the prying eyes of the rest of Vancouver International airport. They had left their families in the main waiting area with AD Cassidy and several other agents, who Monica had been surprised to learn were accompanying them on the flight home.

She followed her friends in. Mulder and Scully sat down beside each other, so close their thighs were touching. Monica, absolutely exhausted from having next to no sleep the previous night, collapsed down next to Mulder, and John beside her.

"Is there anything I can get you?" the flight attendant asked politely. She stood in the doorway, ready to pull the door shut and leave them alone.

"I think we're OK," Monica said. "But thank you."

She meant it, and the flight attendant smiled.

"I'll come back for you when we're ready to board."

The door clicked closed and the four of them were left alone. From the other side of the door came a steady hum of the voices of their family and FBI colleagues, periodically drowned out by announcements on the speakers calling for passengers destined for other locations to board their planes.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" Doggett said, a second after the flight attendant was gone. "How selfless people become when something like this happens?"

"It's touching," Monica replied. "They really do care."

There was a short silence, and they heard the voice of Jana Cassidy rise above the murmur of the others.

"What do think they're talking about?" Monica asked quietly.

"Us," Doggett said immediately. "Without a doubt."

Monica looked around at her friends. "Do you think they're shocked by what we said?"

They had not had a chance after the interview to talk to their families. Agent McMillan had wrapped things up with a few general questions about how they were feeling, and then AD Cassidy had wiped her eyes and insisted they collect their things to head for the airport. Monica had looked at her parents' faces, but found it hard to judge what they were thinking. Her mother had a wet face from crying, but so did nearly everyone else. The only person who hadn't cried had been Scully's brother Bill, and John's father Jack - though he had had moist eyes. The four of them had risen from the couch and stood awkwardly in front of their relatives, but an awkward silence had prevailed when no one knew what to say. Eventually, Scully's mother had walked forward and said they'd better be going. She put an arm around Dana's shoulders to lead her away, and Monica and the others had followed, feeling totally wrecked.

"I expect so," Doggett said. "But right now they're probably just worried about us, wondering how we're gonna get through this."

Monica sighed. She felt so tired. It wouldn't have been so bad if there was only a week off and bedrest ahead. Instead, they had at least four funerals, the media stalking their every move, and their families constantly hovering. She doubted whether the four of them would have any time alone to work through their issues, and it scared her. And to top it all off, she still felt ill. Every time she stood up she felt dizzy and had the urge to vomit.

Monica nudged Mulder with her knee. "You're both very quiet."

Scully looked up. She looked exhausted, a million miles away and on complete autopilot.

"I guess I was just thinking," she said. "Wondering if we _will _get through it."

It was a loaded question, and Monica contemplated it for a moment before answering.

"Well we've come this far," she said. "We can't give up now."

Scully lowered her eyes. Mulder put a hand on her thigh, gently bringing her attention back.

"I think we'll make it," he said. "We just need to ask ourselves why we survived in the first place."

"It was luck," Doggett said.

Mulder nodded. "Yeah, most of it was. It was luck that we weren't injured from the crash. It was luck that Scully and Monica were awake to dig us out when the avalanche hit. It was luck that we had good weather to hike out in." He paused for a breath. "But it _wasn't _luck that Monica survived her hypothermia. It wasn't luck that kept us walking through that snow when we wanted to give up and fall down. And it wasn't luck that we didn't give up when Skinner and Kim died."

"We pulled each other through," Monica said, now seeing where Mulder was taking them.

"Exactly," Mulder said. "And we can do it again. I did a unit on post-traumatic stress when I was at Oxford, and we read countless books on the subject. And while the circumstances of the tragedies may vary, the method for dealing with them is always the same. It's about not denying anything we've been through. It's about being honest with ourselves, and your families. It means having the courage to ask for space when we need it and to ask for a shoulder when we need to cry. And if we do those things, if we stick together, we'll make it."

_**Chapter Six - It All Ends Here**_

There was a knock at the door and the young flight attendant reappeared, pushing the door open a fraction and poking her head around, trying to discreetly block the rest of the airport from seeing them.

"Excuse me, agents. We're ready to board."

"We'll be right there," Doggett said, and she closed the door again.

"Moment of truth," Monica said glumly. It would be the first time since the crash that they were getting on a plane, and deep down, she was terrified. The only thing that had so far kept her strength up was Doggett, Mulder and Scully, because since none of them had shown weakness at the idea, she hadn't dared to show any either. But the truth was that she wished they could catch a train, or even jump in a car and travel across the country. But real life apparently didn't work like that.

John reached over and squeezed her hand. "Well we've all done this hundreds of times before. It'll be all right."

"If you're trying to convince me, you're failing," Monica said, wrapping her smooth fingers around his rough ones.

"Well we can't stay here," Scully said reasonably. Her voice was higher than usual, betraying her fear.

"Somehow I wish we could," Monica said. She felt the others' eyes on her, sympathising. "Nothing's going to be the same anymore. When we get to Washington..."

She trailed off, struggling to compile the nightmare into a sentence. She knew already the four of them would have to go their separate ways. Their families were expecting to take them home after the flight, and so the three long weeks of being together would come to an abrupt end. Mulder and Scully were lucky, being taken together to their apartment by Scully's family, but both her and Doggett were going to face it alone. She pictured herself back in her cold apartment and knew it was going to feel foreign, like she didn't belong there anymore. Truly, all she wanted to do was stay together, to ignore the rest of the world and the demands and questions that were going to fall upon them, and to not have to break the bond that had kept them alive for the past three weeks.

"It's not the end," Mulder said.

"You and Dana will be together," she pointed out. "You'll be going home to your apartment, back into the warmth and safety of your own bed, and you'll be taken care of by her family."

"What about _your _family?" Mulder asked. "They love you. They'd accompany you to the toilet if you let them."

"Maybe," Monica said softly. She wasn't going to tell them that it had been years since she'd been close to her parents. As a child she'd adored them, and they had spoiled her in every way. Her father had enthusiastically encouraged her intelligence, seeing her potential to add to the family business empire. He had happily sponsored her to study at Brown in the U.S., paying her fees and costs of living and even caving in on her choice of course, but the split had come when she'd enrolled at Quantico. Her mother had been already heartbroken by Monica moving so far away from home instead of studying locally and staying loyal to the extended family, and when Monica decided to turn her back on both career possibilties of the family empire and academia, it had been the final straw. She knew her father was proud of her, and though he had been the one to encourage her brains and ambition, he had never thought it would take the form of being in law enforcement, where people were shot every day and saw things he didn't want his baby girl to see. And now, Monica suspected their clingyness was nothing more than enthusiasm to get her out of the FBI and drop her back into the life they wanted her to have.

"Monica, is there a problem with your parents?" Scully asked, concern on her face. "You know you can tell us anything."

"No," she said, not ready to make them worry until she was sure. "And it's not even that."

"Is it parting?" John asked. He squeezed her fingers again.

She nodded and was relieved when none of them were surprised. In fact, the sadness on their faces indicated they understood perfectly.

"We've been through so much," she said. "And yet I've never felt anything like it before."

"I feel the same," Doggett confessed. "But going home doesn't mean we're going to throw that away. It just means we need to get our families settled, sleep a couple of hours, and then meet for breakfast for another round. Right?"

Monica smiled. "Right."

"And before you get jealous," Mulder said, "maybe _you'd _like to spend a night with Bill prowling around the bedroom keyhole."

Scully laughed and rubbed Mulder's leg. "He's trying."

There was a soft knock at the door and a moment later Mrs Scully appeared.

"Sorry to interrupt," she said, "but they're waiting to board us."

Monica had forgotten all about the flight attendant's request for them to come out and got to her feet with John, neither letting go of the other's hand. Mrs Scully swung open the door further and Monica saw their families were gathered on the other side, waiting for them to come out and wondering what on Earth had taken so long. Then Monica felt someone take her other hand and knew just by the feel of it that it was Scully.

"Remember," Scully said, leaning in so no one else could hear, "it's just the beginning."

_**Chapter Seven - Home**_

When they stepped out of the United terminal at Dulles International Airport, it was nearly midnight. The night sky was clear and full of stars, but it was biting cold, and as they set out for their cars in the long term parking area, John zipped up his jacket and shoved his hands in his pockets. It was a quiet group that made the walk. The only sounds were of their footsteps and the wheels of suitcases rolling on the asphalt, for everyone was absorbed in their own thoughts. John noticed that Scully was particularly silent, having been shaken awake from what could have been a long, deep sleep. She now walked ahead of him, under the loving arm of Tara, who was steering her gently and even pointing out steps and other obstacles because she was in such an exhausted daze. John could tell that all her sleepless nights had finally caught up with her, and if it hadn't been for Tara's arm and gentle guidance, she would have collapsed right there in the gutter.

Next to Tara walked Bill, who was carrying their bags, and behind them was Mulder, whose arm was in the motherly grip of Mrs Scully. John liked Mrs Scully. He had been uneasy with the fact that Mulder had no family to care for him. The hours in the hospital when the relatives had swarmed around their beds while the space around Mulder's was empty had made John feel awkward, to say the least. But, to his relief, Mrs Scully had taken him under her wing, as though he was her own son. Or at least a future son.

Monica walked unaided, next to her socialite mother and father, who had charmed half the FBI agents on the plane and still looked bright-eyed and alert, and John himself was between his parents Jack and Anne, with Christi a step ahead. His parents, as with Monica's, had deliberately booked motel accommodation before even leaving Vancouver, so as to not be a burden on them and allow them the space they needed. Christi, however, was going to sleep in one of his spare rooms, and he knew it was because though they understood he needed his space, they were careful to not leave him by himself. At first the whole arrangement had felt awkward, lightyears away from his real wish of not having to separate from his friends at all, but as the flight wore on he became aware that for this night, at least, they were all too tired for it to matter.

They reached the parking lot and stopped near Scully's beige sedan, which had been parked nearest. Scully pulled her car keys out of her coat pocket and handed them to Bill, who went to open the trunk to stack their bags inside.

John looked around at the circle of faces and said, "We need a minute."

He felt his mother touch him on the back as he began to walk away to a space a few cars along where they were out of earshot of everyone. There the four of them stopped walking and turned to face each other for the moment they had all dreaded. And now it had come, John was unsure what to say.

"I guess this is it," he said lamely.

There was a short silence. John heard the sounds of Bill stacking bags and rearranging them to all fit in, along with soft voices of conversation that sounded like the three families were all exchanging cell phone numbers so they could contact each other in emergency, though no one had been game to say what that might involve.

"We'll meet at your house in the morning," Mulder said to him. "We won't fit everyone in our apartment, nor Monica's."

John nodded. "Makes sense."

There was another pause.

"Will you be OK?" Monica asked him.

"Yeah," he said, trying to sound confident. "I'm not planning on doing anything other than sleeping tonight."

"Will _you _be OK, Monica?" Scully asked tentatively.

"I think so," she said. She glanced over his shoulder to her parents. Her expression became thoughtful.

"You can come as early as you like," John said. Something in him was especially uneasy about leaving Monica, but he couldn't see how to help. She was so determined to lie and constantly tell them she was all right.

"You know you can call, come by, anytime," Scully said, looking from Monica to John. "Both of you."

"We'll be fine," John said. He hated to see Scully so worried when what he wanted her to do was get a decent sleep.

"It's only a few hours," Monica added.

There was another awkward silence. The conversation from their families had lulled now.

"Well they're waiting," he said. "I suppose we ought to go."

Scully and Mulder nodded, but neither of them moved.

"You know," Monica said, "I don't know about you, but I feel I could use a hug."

The awkwardness evaporated suddenly as though it had never been there and John smiled. He looped an arm around Monica's shoulders, another around Mulder's, and the four of them came together in a hug that started off friendly, but as the seconds ticked on, ended in a furious embrace of warm hands and salty tears. It was like they were one, and the separation meant he had to leave three quarters of his soul behind. He held them tight, felt the others holding him tight, and the bond that was impossible to express in words was confirmed in action. As he stepped back he realised he vision had become watery again, but this time he didn't care. He kissed Monica on the cheek, then Scully, and finally stepped back, his heart pounding with pain.

Monica's whole face was wet as her and Scully kissed goodbye, and then, with a look of now or never, she took a deep breath and hurried away to her parents before she could change her mind. Doggett turned and watched her go, watched her parents both put arms around her, and then with a quick word of goodbye to his family and the Scullys, they led her away into the maze of cars.

John felt his arm being squeezed and broke his gaze from Monica to see Scully standing next to him. Her face, too, was wet from crying.

"We'll see you soon," she said.

He nodded. "You get some sleep."

Then she, too, left, with Mulder walking beside her, holding her hand. They walked back to her family, and Bill opened the back door for them while Mrs Scully and Tara helped them into the car.

And then John was alone. He saw his parents and sister slowly walking toward him.

"Are you OK?" his mother asked, putting a hand on the side of his face, her fingers on his wet cheeks.

"Yeah," he said. But it was an automatic response. It was _not _OK. If it was, he wouldn't be crying. If it was, Monica wouldn't have fled as though it was the hardest moment of her life. If it was, they wouldn't be asking. It wasn't, and as he heard Bill Scully start the car and the lights went on and the engine began to purr, his heart began to break.

None of them were OK.

This was a mistake.

* * *

_Made it this far? Feedback motivates, especially with a story that'll be as long as this one. :)_


	2. Chapter 2

**_Chapter Eight - Home to Georgetown_**

The car trip had been a quiet one. Scully had been squashed in the middle of the back seat between Mulder and her mother; a position which made it near impossible to escape their continuous looks of concern, especially from Bill, who kept glancing at her in the rearview mirror. She slid her hand into Mulder's, a gesture of recognition for his obvious discomfort around her family, and her refusal to pretend to them that their relationship didn't exist. Mostly, though, it had been out of sadness at what had happened at the airport; their parting from John and Monica, and the fact that her heart now felt heavier than ever before.

She knew from the look on Mulder's face that like her, he was worried about the hard night John and Monica were facing. She had been unable to wrench her heart away from the look of Monica as she had fled from them with tears streaming down her face. She wished so much that the four of them could just stay together. For two weeks they had slept in a crashed plane, pressed up against each other for warmth and comfort, and after all those dark, tear-filled nights, where they had shared blankets and she had been able to feel every move they made, going back to her own apartment felt ridiculous.

"They'll be fine, honey," her mother said soothingly, rubbing her knee. "Their families are decent people. They'll be taken care of."

Scully looked at her mother, momentarily surprised that she had known exactly what she'd been thinking. But her mother just continued to rub her leg and smiled sadly. Scully tried to believe her words. For the Doggetts - John's parents Jack and Anne, and his sister Christi - it was true enough. But for Monica's ... Scully couldn't have felt more uncomfortable with leaving such a close friend in their care.

For the remainder of the trip, silence reigned. Tara played for a while with the radio, passing over the pop stations in search of something more tranquil, but the one classical music station was buzzing with bad reception and she turned it off again.

At last, after nearly an hour of driving through the sleepy streets of Washington, Bill manoeuvred the car into the undercover parking of her apartment building. Scully directed him to her allocated parking space, and then he glided around and brought the car to a stop.

"Home sweet home," he said, unsnapping his belt.

"At last," chimed her mother, doing the same and reaching for the door handle.

Scully waited until all her family were out the car and then turned to Mulder, who looked deep in thought and had been for the majority of the trip. She squeezed his hand.

"Are you OK, Mulder?"

"Just thinking," he said.

Scully wanted to question him further, but was conscious of her family waiting for them.

"Come on," he said, his mood suddenly lighter and tugging on her hand. "Time to tackle the dust bunnies."

A few minutes later and they were outside her apartment door. Scully took her keys back from her brother and slowly flicked through them, looking for the one that would unlock the door in front of her and reveal her past life. It was a life she wasn't sure she wanted anymore, and she hesitated with the key in her hand, the piece of metal ready to push into the lock on the doorknob.

"Scully?"

She felt Mulder put a hand on her shoulder. She looked sideways at him and shook her head to ward off his concern. Then she shoved the key into the lock and clicked the door open. She pushed it open slowly with her hand and automatically reached out to turn on the lightswitch. And she stopped where she was.

"Oh my God ..."

All over her apartment, on her dining table, her coffee table, and various other surfaces, were flowers. Large bouquets of colour shone at her from every direction and the perfume filled her nostrils so much that she felt she was standing in a florist. There were all kinds: roses, lillies, orchids, and even one with purely native flowers.

"Wow ..." she heard Mulder breathe, and his hand slipped off her shoulder he was so stunned.

"Honey, you're blocking the doorway."

Scully walked inside a little to let her mother past, and behind her came Bill and Tara with the bags. They stood them next to her sofa and then Bill stood up straight again and looked at her, still staring at the flowers.

"What, did you think no one cared?" he asked.

Not quite, Scully thought. She knew the world cared to some extent, if the media were anything to go by. Her bedside table at the hospital, too, had been covered in flowers and cards from well wishes - friends and relatives who could not make it in person. But to see her whole apartment covered in flowers brought it all home to her like nothing else had so far.

"There's a note," Mulder said suddenly, and made his way over to the kitchen table, where a note was held down by a jar.

Scully made her way over. "What's it say?"

"It's from Mr Coeben," he said, referring to Scully's landlord. He picked up the note in his hands and began to read. "'I hope you don't mind, but the flowers were delivered to the front stairs of the building and I could not leave them there. I can't tell you how relieved I am that you are both okay, and wish to extend to you my sympathy for the ordeal you've endured and respect for the courage you've shown us all. The world owes you more than flowers.'"

"What a sweet man," Margaret Scully said, reading over her daughter's shoulder.

"Yeah," Scully said, touched by her landlord's kind words, "he's a lovely man."

Her fingers reached out to the nearest basket and she took the head of a pink rose in her hand. After a second the perfect flower became hazy, and she realised she was crying again. She let the flower go and tried to wipe away her tears before anyone saw, but she was too late.

"Dana, you need some sleep," Margaret said firmly, putting a hand on her shoulder. "You both do."

Scully continued to wipe away her salty tears and sighed, trying to hold back others that were threatening to fall. Before she knew what was happening, she was being walked down her hallway to her bedroom. Her mother opened the door, flicked on the lightswitch, and gently pushed her inside to stand beside the bed, Mulder with her.

"Now I want you both to get changed and get some _rest_."

Scully nodded to herself and turned to face her mother. "Mom -"

"It's okay, Dana," her mother said, cutting her off. "I'll be here when you wake."

Her mother's gentle hand was on the side of her face, fingertips in her hair. Scully met her mother's eyes and saw that under all the show of strength, her mother was about to fall to pieces.

"Oh, Mom..."

Scully stepped forward and put her arms around her mother, holding her tight. For nearly a minute they held each other, both of them crying, but trying not to. Then Scully gently let go and the two of them stood apart.

"I love you, Mom," Scully said softly, suddenly realising how much she needed her mother to be there, as a source of strength and love that could represent the one thing in her life that was not going to change.

"I love you too, Dana."

Scully smiled and then looked sideways across the room, to where Mulder was pulling down the blankets and trying to pretend he wasn't listening.

"Fox," Mrs Scully said, walking over to him. Scully was glad when he didn't flinch at the name. In fact, she'd noticed that her mother was the one person he seemed to tolerate it from. He stood up and faced Scully's mother, looking out of place and still a little awkward.

Scully watched as her mother swiftly stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek, and then patted his shoulder.

"You don't need to look so scared, Fox."

Mulder shrugged a little, and Scully knew what he was thinking: it was hard not to be awkward around her family, around Bill who hated him, and Mrs Scully who he worried saw him as the influence to all her decisions her mother disapproved of.

"You make sure Dana sleeps."

"I will, Mrs Scully."

_**Chapter Nine - A Night in Falls Church**_

John had returned to his house in Falls Church to find it exactly the way he'd left it a month ago. His bed was still unmade, there were still dirty clothes in the laundry, and the kitchen sink still held an unwashed coffee mug turned upside down. He'd glanced over it all as he made his way upstairs, but none of it mattered much. His mind was still on Monica, and wondering why he hadn't had the courage to ask her to stay the night at his place. For two weeks, they had been sleeping against each other. It had begun as a source of warmth, to prevent themselves from freezing to death. But then had he had held her all night after the death of Follmer, and also after she nearly froze to death walking in the blizzard and he and Scully both thought she would die. He'd gotten used to her presence, her gentle breathing, the shape of her waist and curve of her back, her gentle hands on him, and even the way her voice shivered as she spoke in the freezing darkness. But now she was across town, as were both Scully and Mulder, and he felt more alone than he'd ever felt in his life.

"John?"

He looked up from where he'd been sitting on the edge of his bed and saw Christi in the doorway.

"I've made up the spare bed in the next room," she said. "You just yell out if you need me."

He nodded, already knowing he would not call for her no matter how bad he felt. It was not entirely because she was his younger sister, or because he was 40 years old and felt awkward about crying to his family like he was a kid again, but because even if he were to confess his fears to her, there was no way she could help anyway, and that made it pointless. Besides, he thought, she was as exhausted as he was, and deserved a good night's sleep.

"You _will _get some sleep?" she asked gently.

"Yeah, I'll sleep," he replied.

He thought she would leave, but after a moment she crossed to the bed and sat beside him, folding her hands in her lap.

"John," she said, "remember when you were 14 and you broke the window on Dad's car?"

He looked up at her.

"I was seven," she went on, "and afterward, when Mom and Dad found us standing amongst the shattered glass, you blamed it all on me."

He remembered. It was a hot day in Georgia, he was on a summer break from school and he was mucking around in the yard with his buddies. Christi had been harassing them, jogging around them with her blonde pigtails, wanting to join in on the fun. They'd all tried their best to ignore her, but she'd been a persistent little brat. So when the ball he kicked accidentally broke the car window, neither he nor his friends had any trouble assigning the blame on her. But neither of his parents had believed him, and he had to work off the cost of getting the window fixed by doing jobs around the house, and was then grounded for a month of precious summer days for lying about it, and also for refusing to be a kind brother and let Christi join in their game. The shouting had gone on forever, and all in all it was about the worst summer of his childhood.

"What's your point?" he asked.

She smiled. "You lie as badly now as you did then."

He looked into her eyes for a moment and saw in the them what he'd come to know as the unconquerable strength of Christi; the same strength that had been in her at the age of seven, when she'd been furious at him for lying and whacked him in the gut so hard she'd left a bruise. It was also the strength he'd seen after Luke's death, when she'd stayed with him through the worst of the hard nights, been with him through the divorce from Barbara, made an effort to spend positive times with him to get over his grief, taking him out to sporting events, to the movies, anywhere and everywhere to get him to feel a spark of life again.

"Well what's there to say?" he said.

She sighed. "Don't protect me, John."

He looked away.

"You miss them, don't you?" she asked. "It hurts to be apart."

He swallowed. "You've no idea what it was like up there."

"You're right," she said. "But I _want _to know."

He looked up again. He knew she was asking him to tell her. His thoughts went back to the words of Mulder in the small staff room of Vancouver airport. _It's about being honest with ourselves, and your families_. It had been easy to hear at the time, but to sit there and try to describe the whole thing was something else. He was no poet.

"There's a lot more to the story than what you told the FBI, isn't there?"

Her cool blue eyes were probing for the truth, and he looked away from her, down at his hands. He was always forgetting how smart she was. He shouldn't be surprised. He thought it over for a moment before coming to a decision to trust Mulder, to give Christi a chance.

"Look," he said, turning back to her. "Are you tired?"

She smiled. "Not particularly."

"Sit a while?"

She stood up and walked around to the other side of the bed. "Just let me get comfortable."

_**Chapter Ten - A Sleepless Scully**_

Scully woke cocooned in Mulder's arms, her head against his t-shirt clad chest. It was not his usual bedtime attire - usually he slept bare-chested - but the fact that her family were on the other side of the door had made him a little more conservative. He even wore flannel pajama bottoms, one leg of which was now lying heavily over hers. But she did not mind. She felt comfortable in his arms. The air in the room was chilly from the cold winter night outside, and Mulder's body felt warm and safe. She lay there for a moment watching him sleep, raised her head a little to see that it was indeed a deep sleep, borne from absolute exhaustion. She inclined her head a little higher to see the digital clock behind him and saw, with a sinking feeling, that only two hours had passed since they had climbed into bed.

She thought of Monica and wondered if she was sleeping. Had she been forced to bed by her parents as well? Had her mother stayed with her, or left her alone? Surely they would stay with her. She was at least glad she knew that Christi was staying with John. She had an inkling that it was not the first time the Doggett family had been through such an arrangement. She knew the previous time must have been after Luke was found dead. It was eight years ago now, but the way they had all rose to the occasion with such ease and familiarity showed that it was all not far under the surface, and though they all normally lived in different states, that tragedy had forged a very strong bond amongst the family and they could unite and close ranks with one phone call.

As for her own family ... she could still hear them in her living room. They were talking, but their voices were not quite loud enough for her to be able to make out what they were saying. It surprised her a little that they were still there. She knew her mother was going to stay the night, had assumed that she would take the spare room, but her impression had been that Bill and Tara were going to stay at her mother's house, which was not too far away, but which would allow them their own room and the opportunity to get away from all the madness for a couple of hours. Then, too, was the fact that Tara was three months pregnant, and Scully was slightly anxious, wary of the effect the coming week was going to have on the pregnancy. It was not too late for things to go wrong, and the last thing she wanted was to be the cause of another Scully family disaster. What Tara chose to do was her business, but when she was carrying a baby - Scully's niece or nephew - Scully couldn't help feeling a sense of responsibility toward the unborn child. Their other two children, Matthew and Lizzie, were staying with friends in San Diego, but the one in Tara's womb was going to cop the stress of the week whether they liked it or not.

And on that thought, Scully sighed. So much lay ahead for them. It was foolishness to think that this would all disappear in a week or two. The media would tire of the story, but the memories in her own mind would plague her for the rest of her life. It was hard to know what to do. The thought that had been plaguing her most, in fact, was not of the mountains at all. It was of the future, of the fact that she was doubtful of her ability to go on with a career in the FBI, especially on the X-Files. She didn't know if she was any longer willing to risk her life on such a level as she had before. She was certainly not willing to see John and Monica risk theirs. And then there were other things: the fact that the sound of a firing gun was something which would now always trigger the memory of Follmer's suicide, and every dead body she could be asked to autopsy would be of someone she had cut open for their own survival. The hallways of the FBI, too, would be filled with inescapable ghosts. But then, there was Mulder, who was still sleeping deeply, and she knew she could not bear to tell him this. The X-Files was his life's work, and to want to give up on them, to walk away and ask him to join her in a different life, made her feel like a traitor.

She looked at the clock again and saw that only five minutes had passed. She knew she couldn't get back to sleep now. She felt restless, anxious, and hated being alone with her thoughts, which were like a carousel of torturous memories that would have her suicidal before sunrise. So gently, she pushed herself into a sitting position, sliding her legs out from under Mulder's, and slid out of the bed, trying not to wake him. Then she left the bedroom, closing the door behind her, and padded down the warm carpet to her living room.

They were gathered in the kitchen, standing around the wooden table. The flowers were all gone, and Scully saw that someone had raided her cupboards for vases and placed the flowers around the room. The table now held a few shopping bags, from which Bill and Tara were unpacking groceries, while her mother sat down with a mug nestled in her hands. Apparently her brother and sister-in-law had only just returned.Tara looked up as she approached, pausing the unpacking with a box of cereal in her hand.

"Dana, what are you doing up?"

Scully felt a stab of irritation at the fact that she was being treated as a baby and couldn't even walk around her own apartment, but it vanished as quickly as it had come when Bill and her mother both turned to look at her, concern on their faces.

"I could ask you the same thing," she said, stopping at the table beside her mother, who immediately reached out for her hand.

"Well you know Mom," Bill said, picking up a bag of apples. "She was worried you'd have nothing to eat in the morning."

Scully hadn't even given a thought to her fridge, or how much everything in there had to smell after her being gone for a month, but now she saw that her kitchen bin was in the centre of the floor and nearly full with old food; including yoghurt, bread, and cheese, amongst many other things buried further down. Apparently Bill and Tara were cleaning out the fridge and cupboards as they filled them up with fresh food. She stared down at the bags of groceries in front of her and was immediately reminded of the plane. How white the mountain had been outside, and the neat line of bodies in the snow. How there had been no food, and after four days she had had to persuade the others to consider doing the unthinkable ... and now, in front of her was a plentiful supply of food. It felt so painful to her that they had struggled so much when alone with nature, but now, back in civilisation, Bill and Tara had gone shopping at three in the morning and filled a whole trolley.

"Sit down, Dana."

Her mother tugged on her hand and Scully gave in, pulling out a chair beside her mother. She sat down and immediately her hand was taken again by Mrs Scully, who held it firmly in her own. Scully caught her mother's worried gaze, and then Bill's, looking sideways at her as he put milk in the fridge, and thought she could stand it no longer.

"Look, I'm okay," she said.

"Really?" Bill asked. She knew he didn't believe her. In fact, she knew none of them did. They were too smart, knew her too well, had heard too many analyses of her condition from the doctors back in Vancouver. She looked down at the table, away from Bill's disbelieving eyes. She had no energy for his attitude. She didn't even know if she _wanted _to fight, or what she would be fighting for if she did. There was a moment of strained silence. Tara cleared away the empty bags from the table and put them in the bin. Then she exchanged a look with her husband and the two of them moved toward the table and took a chair each.

"Dana," her mother said slowly, squeezing her hand, "this isn't easy for anyone. Maybe we don't know what it was like, what you faced when you were on that mountain. Maybe we _don't _understand how you feel now. But this isn't something that's going to go away or fade overnight like a bad dream, and if any of us are going to get through this, we have to trust each other. Can't you give us a chance?"

Her mother always did know how to get to her, and Scully suddenly felt awkward and ashamed. She tried to imagine again what her family had gone through when the FBI first contacted them to say she was missing. She tried to imagine those twelve days when they had had to conclude she was dead, and then to hear out of the blue that she was alive after all. She also understood, quite unpleasantly, that this could very well be a turning point in the family relationship. So much had happened in the last nine years of working on the X-Files, so much they had never understood and had been unable to accept. But they had tried their best to stand beside her, even though it had been hard. And now, if she brushed them aside again, she knew she might be saying forever goodbye to the Scully family, and she saw with sudden clarity that she was not ready to do that; that if anything, it was a time to build something again.

"I'm sorry," she said at last. She forced herself to look up into her mother's eyes. She opened her mouth to say more, to try to explain, but her throat felt tight and no words came out.

"Oh Dana," her mother said, tears coming out of nowhere and streaming down her cheeks. She edged closer on her chair and for the second time that night, Scully hugged her, twisting around on her seat and pulling her mother into her arms. "I'm sorry I gave up on you."

Scully let her mother go and sat back. Her mother wiped her eyes, looking guilty.

"It's okay," Scully reassured her, unable to believe what she was hearing. "I mean, you were right. Logic says we should be dead."

"We should've known nothing would hold you back," Bill said, smiling at her with a pride she had never seen before. "Nothing ever has before!"

Scully smiled at him, but shook her head slightly at the same time. It was a compliment she couldn't accept. She felt her smile fade as she thought over all that had happened. The truth was, _plenty _had held her back. It hadn't been her who had got them out of the mountains. Granted, they had each had their shining moments, but overall, if their survival was to be attributed to anyone, she knew it was Monica. It was Monica who had got Kim through the death of Holly, Monica who had held her in the pit of snow after they had found Kim dead, Monica who had held her all night when she couldn't sleep, Monica who had forced them to follow her out of the mountains.

"It wasn't me," she said, sighing.

She thought they might question her, or challenge the idea and call her a hero like the rest of world insisted on doing, but was relieved when they said nothing. They seemed to understand without her even having to explain.

"You know, Bill," she said, mustering up her courage, "I do love Mulder."

She wasn't sure how he would react, but was keen to get it off her chest and out in the open.

He was quiet for a second, but then he nodded, and she could tell he was trying to make an effort, for her and everyone's sakes. "Yeah. I know you do."

_**Chapter Eleven - What Was it Like?**_

"There _were _holes in the story we gave," John said.

They'd both slipped under the covers of his bed and were leaning against pillows and the headboard. Christi had her legs arched in front of her, but her relaxed posture didn't fool him. He could feel her hanging on to his every word.

"We gave them all the facts," he said, "but it's not the facts we remember."

"What is it you remember?"Christi asked softly. Her voice was nearly drowned out by the sound of the wind picking up outside. John could hear the leaves on the trees rustling.

"You hear that?" he asked, and paused for a second as they both listened to the wind. "You magnify that about fifty times you get what it is we heard for two weeks. Day, night, there's just a constant howl of wind."

They were quiet for a few seconds as they listened to the sound from outside, the rise and fall of the wind. He saw Christi look toward his window, even though the curtain was closed and they couldn't see outside.

"You know one thing I remember," he began, "when we were hiking out, and I got sick. I had these cramps in my gut, diarrhea for hours." He glanced across at Christi, checking her reaction, but she wasn't laughing, or looking awkward, and he felt comfortable with going on. "I was behind some rocks, where there was a spot sheltered from the wind and not so much snow. And ... then Scully came. She's a doctor, and she came and sat beside me, her hair slappin' her in the face, and she held my hand."

Christi nodded, her expression was a mixture of sadness and awe.

"Then I can understand how you've become so close," she said.

He considered the statement for a moment. In some form, inside his heart, he'd known that the four of them had become close, but it was the first time he'd heard someone say it out loud. Perhaps it was because it had all happened so gradually. One day they had been colleagues, and then somehow, now, they were ... what? Friends? More than friends? Did the English language even have a word for what they had become?

"What else do you remember?" she asked, urging him out of his thoughts.

"Oh, I don't know," he said, sighing deeply. He mind skimmed the memories, trying to find something he felt he could share without betraying Monica, Scully and Mulder. The truth was that most of it he felt was too personal to share. "I remember the dead. We lined them up in the snow. Most of them were wearing clothes stained with blood, and the blood drained into the snow till everything around them was bright red. It looked liked a massacre." He paused. "You try not to look at them as you walk past, everyone's pretending there's nothing there. It worked for a while."

"Until?" Christi prompted.

"Until it's someone you know," he said. "Someone you've worked with before, maybe for years, or become friends with ... and then they're dead in front of you. There's snowflakes falling on their face, and you sit down beside them, brush them away. And you wonder how much more you can take."

Christi was silent for a moment, as though imagining what he had just described. The wind lulled outside.

"I still find it incredible that you made it out," she said, turning back to face him.

"So do I," he admitted. "So many times we nearly died. Mulder and I were buried in the avalanche. Scully slipped over the edge of the cliff. Monica got hypothermia ..."

He paused on that particular memory, of Monica lying there in the plane, beyond shivering, slipping into unconsciousness. She had been so pale, and he remembered holding her dead weight in his arms while Scully undressed her, ridding her of her soaked clothes. He remembered the look on Scully's face, how it had spelt out Monica's condition more than any analysis she could've spoken. He remembered stripping off, lying down under the blankets with Monica's cold skin in his arms, rubbing his hands over her body to warm her, wondering if this could possibly work ... praying with all his heart that she would not lose consciousness.

He sighed again, thinking of her across the city, trying to picture her curled up in bed and wondering whether she was awake like him. Then he noticed Christi was watching him, and he looked over to her. His insides squirmed at the knowing smile on her face, and he looked away again. He waited for her to say something. It was a long few seconds that passed.

"Think you're ready to get some sleep?" she asked finally.

Relief flowed through him and he realised with surprise that he had become quite comfortable and his eyelids felt heavy.

"Yeah," he said. "Maybe I am."

She pushed the covers back and climbed out of his bed, to go back to his spare room and leave him alone.

"I'll see you in the morning," she said, pausing at the doorway.

He nodded. "Wake me when they get here?"

She smiled. "Will do."

**_Chapter Twelve - Morning Arrives_**

When Mulder woke it was a few minutes past nine, and he blinked a few times, trying to push away something strangely irritating. A second later he realised it wasn't the natural daylight in the room, but actually a few strands of Scully's hair on his chin. He lifted a hand and gently tucked it back her behind her ear, and then shifted himself closer, holding her gently.

"Mulder, you awake?"

She lifted her head from under his chin and he leaned back a little.

"Good morning," he said, and leaned forward to kiss her softly. She was without makeup, had bags under her eyes as though she'd hardly slept, and yet to him, she was still beautiful. She returned the kiss - he felt her hand on his chest - and then she pulled away.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. He knew she had got up in the middle of the night, spent a few hours in the living room with her family. He had heard the four of them talking for a while, and though he was curious, had chosen to give them space.

"I'm all right," she said.

"Did you sort things out with your family?"

She looked surprised, and for a second he wondered if he should've pretended he hadn't noticed.

"God, Mulder, you miss nothing."

"The bed got cold," he said. He put his hand over hers on his chest, holding it. "So did you?"

She rolled over onto her back and sighed, her hair fanning out against the pillow. "We talked about a few things. About the hike out, the isolation, things like that."

It didn't escape Mulder that she had deliberately chosen the easy topics, but he knew that it had taken courage for her to open up to them at all. For the previous day or two, he'd noticed her awkwardness around them, and it had saddened him a little to see it, knowing that once they had been a close family. For that reason, he was glad she had left the bed to talk to them, and knew that now the ice was broken, it would make it a little easier to slowly tackle the things they hadn't talked about, of which the deaths of Skinner and Kim were two.

She tilted her head to the side, checking the clock, and her eyes widened.

"Geez, we should have left by now."

She let go of his hand and sat up. The bed dipped. Mulder sat up himself.

"It's all right," he said. "I'm betting John and Monica are both still asleep."

"Yeah," Scully said, "if Monica's parents have let her sleep."

Mulder turned his thoughts to Monica and knew she was right. The sight of Monica walking away at the airport the previous night was one thing which had filled his thoughts while lying awake. He felt uneasy, almost guilty, that he had left her. John, too. As much as he loved Scully, liked sleeping alone with her, being away from the other two made him feel as though something was missing.

He pushed back the covers and slid his feet to the carpet. On the other side of the bed, Scully did the same.

"You shower first," she said, heading to the door. "I'll see where my mom got to."

He caught up to her as she reached to the open the door.

"Scully," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

She was still turning around when he leaned in and kissed her, one hand around her front, holding her far hip. He did it slowly, tenderly, and pulled away only when he needed to draw breath. Suddenly she looked awake.

"What was that for?" she asked, her eyes confused.

He squeezed her shoulder and then reached past her for the doorknob.

"For the next twelve hours when I won't have the chance."

**_Chapter Thirteen - At the Doggetts'_**

"Oh, I don't believe it," Bill said, as he drove the car round the corner into Doggett's street.

The day was overcast and grim, grey clouds letting through little sunlight. From the back seat, Scully craned her head up a little and saw that there was a huge crowd of media people outside John's house. She had no idea how they had heard of their return to Washington. She did know that Jana Cassidy had employed a little deception to prevent anyone knowing of their arrival at the airport during the night, but now it seemed, someone had at last caught on. There were people with cameras on their shoulders, vans parked in the street, and well-dressed reporters with microphones in their hands. Bill began to slow the car as Scully looked beside her to Mulder, who groaned.

"I don't think we're going to be able to avoid them," Tara said, turning around from the front seat.

"Well we'll walk right through, say nothing ..." Mrs Scully paused as she took a deep breath. Scully looked away from her and down at her own knees as Bill brought the car to a stop two houses up from Doggett's. She saw Mulder's hand slip onto her knee and squeeze.

"We'll be okay, Scully."

Scully forced herself to be brave and looked up through the windscreen where the reporters had spotted them and were running toward them, cameras on their shoulders, microphones out. Before she could even think further, her mother had opened the door, and was climbing out the car. Her face was hard set, and she turned around once out and reached back in for Scully's hand. Scully took it, and let her mother help her out of the car. She tried to ignore the flashing lights from cameras, the screaming of questions. Instead she looked over the roof of the car to where Mulder was standing on the road on the other side, and their eyes met briefly. His face looked unconcerned, but in his eyes was a look she knew only she recognised; discomfort and a huge a desire to get out of there. As she watched, the media ran out on the road to swarm around him too, and Tara took his arm and they began walking, ignoring the crowd.

"Dana."

She had been ignoring her mother's tugging on her elbow, but then Bill came forward and stood on her other side and she broke her gaze from Mulder. He put a protective arm around her shoulders and they followed Mulder and Tara through the crowd to Doggett's house.

The media went wild, were in front of them and beside them, with microphones in her face, walking backwards as she walked forwards.

"How does it feel to be back in Washington?" one woman asked, wild blonde hair bouncing with excitement.

"Do you now regret your decision to eat your colleagues?"

"Will you be attending the ceremony at the airport this afternoon to honour the return of the bodies of those who didn't make it?"

Scully hadn't heard of any such ceremony, but then all of them had been avoiding any contact with the news. The television in her apartment had remained turned off, and so had the radio in the car on the drive over. But now she wondered whether it was true. If there was a ceremony, and it was fair to assume that they were telling the truth, would they be going? Did she _want _to go? She imagined standing there, surrounded by senior FBI figures and politicians, and watching them roll out the eighteen bodies, draped in the American flag. She felt sick at the thought.

The trip down two house blocks had never felt so long, and by the time Bill and her mother steered her through Doggett's front gate, leaving the media behind, she felt she was going to collapse under the strain. So many unanswerable questions were being fired at them, and she felt the pressure of whole word upon her shoulders. Then, at last, she was on Doggett's porch, and as her mother reached up to knock, the door swung open, and Christi appeared. Her face anxious, she reached out a friendly hand to Scully and Scully took it, letting Christi pull her inside. Behind came her mother, then Bill, Mulder, and finally Tara, who closed the door behind her as soon as she was through. The six of them stood silent for a moment, crowded in the small hallway, listening to the shouts outside behind them dim. Scully heard the television on in the living room - a news report and she guessed it must be John's parents in there watching.

Christi stretched an arm between Tara and Mulder to flip the lock on John's front door, and then she stood back again. "I'm sorry," she said, as if it had been her fault somehow. "They were there when I woke up. I don't know how they even found out we were here." She looked emotionally strained, completely restless and sleep deprived, and Scully's heart went out to her, but before she could think of anything comforting to say, another thought had already pushed it aside.

"How's John?" she asked, noticing his absence. "Is he all right?"

Christi's expression immediately softened. She reached out and put a hand on Scully's shoulder, leading her further into the house. Scully walked with her, heard her family following behind her.

"He's as all right as you'd expect," she said, squeezing Scully's shoulder as they walked. "In fact he was doing quite well until he woke and looked out the window."

"They're like a pack of wolves," Mulder said dispassionately, as they reached the living room and stood in a circle. "It's enough to make anyone want to go back to bed."

Scully looked around as Anne and Jack Doggett snapped off the TV and got to their feet. They walked over and shook hands with her family, Anne holding out an arm to invite them to sit down.

"Look, why don't you go upstairs, talk to him?" Christi suggested, lowering her voice a little.

It had been exactly what Scully had been hoping to do, and she needed no encouragement. Christi smiled and left them to walk over and play host to her family, and Scully met Mulder's eyes, who nodded, and the two of them headed for the stairs and began climbing. The voices of their families soon disappeared behind them as they reached the upstairs floor and walked down the corridor to John's bedroom.

"You know Scully, if I read her right, the two of them have been up half the night."

"At least he wasn't by himself," Scully said, trying to look on the bright side and squash down the guilt she felt inside.

"Yeah, well I've got a terrible feeling she's very experienced with this."

Scully sighed as they reached John's closed door and raised her knuckles to knock. "Right now I can't even think whether that's an advantage or a drawback."

"Come in," came Doggett's voice, sounding exhausted.

Scully turned the handle and opened the door, and paused as her eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness. His curtains were closed and all the lights were off. She looked over to where she knew the double bed was and started to make out his shape, moving as though sitting up in bed.

"My God, Dana," he said, sounding relieved. A second later a lamp clicked on and the room was bathed in a warm glow. She saw he _was _sitting up in bed, and that he wasn't wearing a shirt. She hadn't noticed before exactly how thin he had become. She could see his ribs behind his skin. Her excitement at seeing him again dulled as she was reminded of what they had been through.

"Are you all right?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Yeah," she said, and quickly hoisted a smile on to her face and rushed over to the bed. She sat on the edge beside him and leaned forward, hugging him tight. He hugged her equally strongly, one arm rubbing up and down her back, and after a long moment they separated. She saw the concerned look was still on his face.

"I just hadn't realised how thin you were," she said.

"You ain't exactly a Jenny Craig target yourself," he said, nodding down at her body.

He then reached past her to where Mulder was standing and the two men shook hands with tight grips.

"How was your night?" Mulder asked.

Doggett shrugged and looked away, unwilling to commit himself to an answer and confirming Scully's worst suspicions.

"About as wonderful as ours, then," Scully said, reaching forward and taking his hand in hers. Mulder walked around the other side of the bed and sat down.

"Well it sure wasn't something I'll be eager to remember," he admitted. "What happened with yours?"

"I don't know," she said. "I missed you and Monica, and then my family ... well it's just been a long time since I've had a heart to heart with Bill. To tell the truth it wasn't my idea of a good time."

"Did they come with you?" John asked.

She nodded. "They're downstairs with your family."

There was a short silence and Doggett pointed to a black t-shirt that was lying on the bed near Mulder. Mulder passed it to him before he could even ask, and Doggett began to pull it over his head. Scully looked away.

"You heard from Monica?" he asked, his voice muffled by the material.

"No, not yet."

He looked across at the digital clock, which showed it was nearly eleven o'clock. "She should've been here by now."

Scully felt the same way. She knew Mulder and herself had been late themselves, and hoped that Monica was merely in a similar boat of not having set an alarm. But the thought that something could have gone wrong was beginning to settle in her mind, and it scared her.

"Well hey," Mulder said, "you're still in bed, she probably still is too, that's all. She just needs to recharge her batteries."

Despite agreeing with John, Scully tried to reassure him as she tried to reassure herself. "She's with her parents, she'll be okay."

"Yeah," Doggett said, sarcastically.

Scully raised an eyebrow, and a look of regret spread on Doggett's face.

"We shouldn't have left her," he said. "They're a pair of leeches. They're attaching themselves to her and sucking her dry."

"Well ..." Scully began.

Doggett cut her off. "What's that?"

They were all quiet as they listened to the sound of the crowd from outside. They were growing in volume and Scully heard some of the same voices shouting that had she and Mulder had faced only ten minutes before.

Mulder clapped John on the shoulder. "That'll be her."

**_Chapter Fourteen - Conference of the Parents_**

Margaret Scully sat on the sofa with Bill and Tara. In front of her the fire was blazing, red flames lighting up the glass, but though she felt relieved by its warmth, it did not soothe her nerves. She barely knew the Doggetts. Before this had all happened, she had only met John Doggett twice, and heard only the vaguest scraps of information about him from Dana. After they had both been announced missing, she had met Christi, Jack and Anne, but there had been many, many relatives of the FBI agents who had gathered in those two weeks, and she had not really got to know them well. But now, after the first night she had spent with her daughter, she was realising they would be spending a lot of time with the Doggetts.

Not that it was that that bothered her. They seemed decent people, and she liked them well enough already. It was the peculiarity of the situation which struck her. Her daughter, who she had known since birth, had never displayed such affection for anyone as she was now. In fact, whereas before she had been adverse to human contact, shy of friendships and personal conversations, the Dana that had emerged from the Rockies was practically inseparable from the other three. It hadn't escaped her attention the way her and Fox had constantly held hands in the hospital ward in Vancouver, then how when they told the story to Assistant Director Cassidy, she had also held the hand of Monica Reyes. Then there was the constant hugging, and most of all, the look of agony she had worn most of the night while they sat together in her living room in Georgetown. Part of her thought of it as a pleasant change, but she couldn't help feeling terrified of the thought of what had happened to push them all so close together.

"Here we are," Anne said, walking back from the kitchen with a tray of steaming mugs. She put the tray on the coffee table and then picked up one mug and handed it to Margaret. "I made it nice and strong."

"Thanks," Margaret said, forcing a smile. She took a small sip. "Oh, it's lovely."

Anne passed out mugs to Bill and Tara, then one to Jack who was sitting in a single armchair beside the fire, one leg crossed over the other, and to Christi, who was standing beside the sofa, looking too restless to sit down. Margaret had noticed she kept looking over her shoulder to the stairs, obviously wondering if her brother was all right.

Christi took her mug in both hands and reluctantly came to sit down in a chair.

"How was Dana last night?" Christi asked.

Margaret lowered her mug back to her lap, considering the question, and whether she could be honest in her answer. It only took a second for her to decide that she could be, because they were all in the same boat.

"I've never seen her so upset," she said. She glanced across at at her son and his wife, but neither of them spoke. She was thinking of the night, when Dana had talked at the kitchen table, her voice monotone, staring into space, describing spicks and specks of what she had been through on the hike out.

"She looks dead on her feet," Jack said matter of factly.

"Yes, she is," Margaret admitted. "They told us she wasn't sleeping, but ..."

She trailed off. The doctors had warned her, but seeing it in reality had been very different from hearing it from a doctor's mouth. When they had arrived at the airport in Washington, she had first thought that Dana would have no trouble sleeping, she looked so exhausted, being led along by Tara, who had been practically holding her on her feet. But then she had appeared in the kitchen within two hours of her head hitting the pillow, and they hadn't persuaded her to head back until the first signs of dawn.

"What was John like?" she heard Tara question, looking toward Christi.

"He was missing them," she said honestly. Then she shrugged. "We talked for a while, he told me a few things, but I'm no substitute, really."

Bill spoke up. "Dana told us some things too. But knowing Dana, I don't think any of it was what's really bothering her. She's still got it all bottled up like the Hoover Dam."

Margaret nodded, agreeing. "And Fox hid in their bedroom all night."

There was a pause in the conversation. The fire crackled, and there was a soft thud as one of the logs inside slipped down the pile and rested against the glass. Jack kept his eyes on the log, Anne sipped her coffee, her eyes down and thoughtful, and Margaret wondered whether she had the courage to say what she longed to say. She had been thinking ever since they'd got Dana back to bed the previous night. She had stretched out on Dana's sofa, blanket over her, and a gnawing feeling had begun to eat away at her conscience.

"Look," she said, reaching out and putting her mug down. "I think this was a huge mistake."

The others all looked up.

"The doctors told us not to separate them. Dana spent ten hours in a state of anxiety over John and Monica, and it only made things worse."

It hurt her to say it, to have to admit to herself that it wasn't her Dana needed. But when it was a choice between Dana's health and satisfying her own motherly ego, her need to feel needed, there was no question that Dana had to come first, and that the best thing they could do was to be selfless. So she had put her feelings aside and took comfort from the fact that she suspected the Doggetts were in the same boat.

"You're right, Margaret," Christi said, meeting her eyes and looking relieved.

"You want to keep them together here tonight?" Jack said, uncrossing his legs and sitting forward.

"Yes," Margaret said. "I think that would be best."

Bill put his hand on her knee and squeezed, and she looked up, seeing his understanding face, his own sense of helplessness.

Then, when she looked up again, she saw Anne was smiling.

"Mom?" Christi prompted, noticing also.

"I was just thinking," she said, still looking amused. "You separate four FBI agents so they can get some sleep only to have each of them lie awake fretting about whether the others are doing the same."

Christi smiled. "And Monica's not even here yet."

**_Chapter Fifteen - Enter Monica Reyes_**

Monica stood on John's front porch, praying the door would hurry up and open. Her mother had pushed the doorbell, but it felt like years before she heard any noise from inside. She saw the flashes in the air from the cameras behind her, but she refused to turn around and face them any more than she already had. For the first time, she was grateful for her mother's presence, her always calm manner, her gentle hand on her elbow keeping her sane.

At the last the door opened, and her heart leapt at the sight of John as he stepped back and let them in. She hurried in, her mother after her, and John quickly closed the door behind her and locked it again. Then he stepped back and she found herself looking into his blue eyes.

"Monica," he said, and suddenly she was in his arms, hugging him as though her life depended on it. She felt his nose in her hair against her neck, his hands holding her upper back. All night she had been craving his moment, longing to be back with him, to have not walked away from him the previous night. And now she was here. She held him as tight as she could, as tight as he was holding her.

Then she heard two more pairs of footsteps, and the voice of Dana Scully greeting her mother. She opened her eyes to see them standing behind John, also with Mulder. They were both looking at her and smiling. She couldn't help noticing how sick they still looked.

"Ease up, honey," she heard her mother say to John. "You're going to suffocate her."

She felt him begin to let go and leaned back, her hands on his elbows.

"How are ya?" he asked.

Monica opened her mouth to tell him she was good, but her mother got in first.

"She spent all night with her head in the toilet," she said.

Monica gave her a look.

"Honey," she said, smiling back, "if you can pee in front of these people, you can tell them anything."

Then, with a smile of a woman who knew she'd won, she turned away and walked off into the house.

John waited until she was out of earshot and then turned back to her. "I can't believe you told her that."

"It was the only lighthearted thing I could think of," she replied.

She let go of John as Scully approached her, and took the smaller woman in her arms, hugging her tight.

"You didn't sleep, did you?" Monica said into her ear.

"No, I did," Scully said, pulling away gently.

Monica gave her a doubtful look. "Eight hours?"

"About as many as you by the looks of it," Scully replied.

Monica was stuck for a response, and turned to greet Mulder. She reached out for him, but Scully took her elbow and pulled her back before they'd made contact.

"What?" Monica asked. The smile on Scully's face had vanished and was replaced by a look of concern.

"You look dehydrated," Scully said.

John stepped around to stand next to Scully. They both narrowed their eyes at her. Mulder had stepped forward and had a hand on her shoulder.

"When was the last time you had something to drink?" Scully asked. She put a hand on Monica's forehead, then on her cheek.

Monica tried to remember. She had drank a glass of water after she had first vomited during the night, but she had thrown it up again two minutes later. Then she had felt so ill she hadn't been game to try. Later she had fallen asleep again as she was too weak to stay awake any longer, but when she'd got up this morning she'd been in too much of a hurry, shocked at the time, to stop and have a meal or worry about glasses of water.

"I don't know," she said. Was it at the hospital in Vancouver? Had it really been that long?

"Have you urinated this morning?"

Again, Monica tried to remember. Most of her memories of her bathroom for the night had been, as her mother had so bluntly told them, vomiting into the toilet. But now she tried to think. Yes, she had. She had had a shower this morning, and gone to the toilet right before that.

"Yeah, I have," she said.

Scully looked slightly relieved, but the look of concern didn't abate. "We need to get some fluids into your system."

"Come into the kitchen," John said, and put an arm around her waist to lead her there. A minute later the four of them were in John's kitchen, and he was pulling out a wooden chair at his kitchen table and gently directing her into it. She sat down and a second later John had placed a glass of water in front of her. Scully took the chair beside her, and Mulder sat on the edge of the table on the opposite side.

"Sip it slowly," Scully advised. "You don't want to make yourself sick."

"Although you've had your share of that already," Mulder said.

Monica took a sip of the water. It felt strange on her tongue. She put the glass down again and kept her eyes on it, feeling the others watching her.

"Where's your father?" John asked, taking a seat. "He not coming?"

"He'll meet us later. He has some business to attend to," she said, taking another small sip. She saw their looks of disapproval and then decided to explain. "He was in the middle of selling off part of his business when all this happened. He managed to delay it for a while to fly to Vancouver, but if he doesn't get the papers signed soon the offer will lapse. He's flown his lawyer here, they have a meeting this morning to seal it."

"That doesn't bother you?" Mulder asked.

"Not really," she said. "He wasn't achieving much watching me puke at home."

John reached across and squeezed her shoulder sympathetically. Monica let go of her glass to hold his hand.

"Keep drinking, Monica," Scully said, getting to her feet and walking to the edge of the kitchen.

"Where are you going?" Mulder asked.

"To ask Bill to get my medical bag out of the car."

Monica hung her head, not in the mood to be examined, even by Scully. She heard Scully's heels on the floor as she left the room. The background chatter that she'd been hearing from the living room subsided suddenly, and Monica heard Scully's soft voice as she explained what was going on. Predictably, a second later when Scully returned, her mother was hurrying in behind her.

"Monica!" she said, rushing in and standing beside her, smoothing her hair down affectionately. "Are you all right?"

"I'm _fine_," Monica replied.

"You've been saying that to me all night."

"I just need to drink some water," she said calmly.

But her mother ignored her and turned to Scully. "Should we take her to a hospital?"

"No, I think she's okay," Scully said. "I just want to check her blood pressure."

Her mother turned back to her. Monica felt her hands in her hair again.

"I knew it was too soon to bring you home," she said, her voice shaking. "What kind of doctor would release a woman who spends the night throwing up..."

"Mom -" Monica said, her temper rising, but Scully cut her off.

"Mrs Reyes, sit down," she said, pulling out a chair for her, and then walking around the table to take a seat next to Mulder. Monica felt her hair slacken as her mother's anxious hands left it.

"Mrs Reyes, Monica is physically all right," Scully said. "Yes, she is weak, has lost weight, but considering what we've been through that's to be expected. And vomiting is perfectly normal for someone in the aftermath of a traumatic experience. It's nothing more than a physical manifestation of a psychological pain."

Her mother was quiet for a moment, and Monica, feeling nervous, let go of John's hand to take another sip of water. She felt Scully's eyes cross to her, but as Monica met them her mother began to speak and they both looked back to her. Her voice was strained.

"You've been through hard times before," her mother said, looking her in the eye. "This isn't the first time you've lost someone. I don't see why a little snow should make so much difference."

Monica stared at her mother in disbelief. She felt her temper rise out of nowhere, like a volcano bubbling away all night and had now erupted. "Yes it makes a difference! It makes a difference when that little snow turns into a blizzard while your friends are outside. It makes a difference when you find them frozen to death the next day. It makes a difference when you hear on a radio that the world has given up on you and you face a choice of a slow, certain death, or to try to hike out and face a probable quick one. It makes a difference when you're so cut off and scared that your friends shoot themselves, or when you're so scared yourself that -"

She stopped, biting her lip just in time.

"That the only thing between you and death is the love of a friend," Scully finished softly.

Monica looked up at her, surprised, but Scully smiled sadly at her, tears in her eyes. She reached across the table for Monica's hand and Monica met it halfway, letting Scully hold it tight. She looked up at the men and saw Mulder also had tears in his eyes, and she felt John's arm settle across the back of her chair. She didn't dare look at him, feeling that if she did, she would lose it completely.

It was then they realised they weren't alone, that Bill was standing in the kitchen entrance. Monica wondered how long he'd been there, and she also realised that the soft chatter of their relatives had ceased, and knew all of a sudden that she had been talking angrily enough that they must have heard everything.

"Dana," Bill said, walking in and dropping a black bag on the table. He squeezed her shoulder, and she met his eyes briefly before he discreetly left again, not even giving her time to thank him.

Scully sighed. "Let's check your blood pressure."

Monica squeezed her hand one last time, and then stood up to take off her coat and roll her up her sleeve. Monica was privately thinking that she thought her blood pressure now would be fine, feeling her veins still rushing from her outburst, but now the necessity of having it measured was releasing her from the pressure of having to say anything, from having to look at her mother, who was sitting silently, looking stunned. Monica knew she was shocked, was trying to process it, and she didn't want to rush her. But she was also mad and weary from a night of sickness, and thought it was up to her mother to make the first move toward an apology. So she stood still as Scully wrapped the plastic tight around her arm, and then tried to ignore how tight it was pressing on her skin once Scully pushed the button on the small digital monitor.

"Uh ... John?"

Monica saw Anne was standing in the kitchen entrance. She had a sheet of paper in her hand.

"Sorry to interrupt," she said, "but we'd like a word with you all when you're ready."

"What's wrong?" John asked, looking confused.

"We've had a phone call from Jana Cassidy," she said. "There's just some things we need to discuss."

"We'll be right there," John said, but his tone showed he wasn't looking forward to whatever it was.

Scully tore the plastic from Monica's arm. Monica hadn't even been aware of the pressure releasing.

"Am I all right?" Monica asked her.

"It's a little low," Scully replied, packing up the machine. "But I think you'll be fine as long as you keep drinking."

She looked pointedly toward the glass of water and Monica turned back to it, picking it up again. She took another mouthful. Mulder stood up to head to the living room, John too, and Monica left her coat hanging on the back of the chair to follow them, glass in her hand.

"Monica," her mother said softly.

Monica stopped. She saw that behind her mother's back, Scully, Mulder and John had also stopped.

"I ..."

But Monica saw the look of fear on her mother's face, the look of a woman who was struggling to accept what had happened, and she realised she didn't want the apology. Her shocked eyes, her regretful expression, her awkwardness when she had always been a woman so in control, was enough.

"It's okay," Monica told her in Spanish, reaching out to touch her on the arm. "Forget it."

* * *

_This takes the story to 39 pages, and it worries me (LOL). Given that I haven't even introduced most of my plot threads yet, I think it's safe to say it's going to end up being several hundred. Please feedback. It helps to know someone's reading._


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter Sixteen - The Funeral Schedule**_

The minute Monica followed the others into the living room, John's father got up to give her his armchair. She declined at first, but then John rolled his eyes at her and she accepted gratefully, and sank into the soft brown chair, feeling exhausted. John perched on the armrest beside her, and across the room Scully settled herself on her mother's armrest, the two immediately holding hands, and Mulder chose to stand toward the back of the crowd. He looked preoccupied, and something in his gaze made her think it was about something to do with her. She took another sip from the glass in her hands and gave him a reassuring smile.

Her mother was the last to join them, and hovered nearby, a look of fake happiness on her face.

"All right," John said, looking at his mother standing by the fire that was glowing red hot. "What's the news?"

She still held the piece of paper in her hand, but the details were concealed from view on the opposite side of the paper. Anne looked around at everyone, and Monica saw her make eye contact with Mrs Scully, as though the two of them were agreeing to proceed with something. It made her feel uneasy.

"Well there's a few things," she said, after taking a deep breath. "But first we'd like to apologise."

Monica met John's eyes, wondering if he was just as confused as her.

"For what?" he asked, looking back to his mother.

"For making the four of you part last night," she answered, looking at them all. Monica lowered her eyes, in absolutely no hurry to discuss how hard the night had been, and just wanting to forget it altogether. She saw Scully do the same. Mulder looked awkward. "We've been talking," she went on, " and it's quite clear to us that you need to be together. We'd be grateful if you'd be willing to all stay here tonight."

Monica felt a weight lift from her heart. She heard John sigh with relief, but it was Scully who reacted the strongest. She met her mother's eyes, looking for something in them, and after a second she found it, and hugged her sideways, kissing her mother on the cheek. Monica smiled, watching them, met Mrs Scully's eyes over Dana's shoulder, and the older woman smiled back at her.

Noticing her three friends were lost for words, she looked up at Anne and said, "Thank you."

Anne nodded. She looked much more at ease now. When Dana and her mother had parted, and after Monica had taken another few sips of water, Anne resumed talking.

"Secondly," she said, "Your assistant director asked if you could come into the Bureau sometime early this afternoon."

"Did she say what for?" Mulder asked, narrowing his eyes.

"No, she wouldn't say," Anne said.

"It's probably the media," Bill hypothesised. "We know they've been fielding your interview offers."

Mulder looked unnerved, and Monica knew why: if it was media offers Jana Cassidy wanted to discuss, she would have said so. She also could have discussed it over the phone, or faxed them through to the machine in John's study ... it hardly warranted an emergency trip to the Hoover building. The fact that she hadn't said what it was about, hadn't been willing to talk about it even to their families, was ominous.

"Is that all?" Scully asked, the look on her face pure hope that it was.

"Two more things," Anne said. "There is a small ceremony at the airport around five o'clock this afternoon." Her voice was softer now. "They are bringing back the bodies of your colleagues. It'll be a few politicians, the FBI, most of the families, and the media. Jana asked that you consider whether you want to attend. They need notification in advance."

The lightness Monica had felt over not having to spend her nights locked in her apartment with her mother vanished as she pictured the scene. She didn't want to go. She felt too depressed as it was, without having to watch sixteen coffins being offloaded from a plane. And then she saw the relatives crying hysterically. She hadn't yet met any of them, and dreaded the time when she would. But equally, on the other hand was the guilt she felt of not attending. Most of them were her friends, all of them were her colleagues, and it felt rude to disrespect them, their sacrifice, by not showing up.

"We'll look heartless if we don't," Monica said.

"They'll understand," Anne said. "No one's expecting you to be there."

"In fact," Christi said, walking forward from where she'd been standing near Mulder, "I think it's better that you don't go."

Monica looked up at her.

"Why do you say that?" Scully asked curiously.

Christi hesitated, she plainly didn't want to give her reasoning. "Well to be frank ... the world might be saluting you. Everyday people from every country in the world have been touched by what you've achieved, the courage and love you've shown. But when it comes to the media, they're only out to sell your story. I saw the way they harassed you just as you were walking from your cars. And that's nothing in comparison to what they'll do to you if you go to the airport. For them, it's not about respecting your dignity, or honouring your courage, it's about money. And if that means they can get a better story by pushing every button they can find, they will do that."

"Well yes," Monica said, agreeing whole-heartedly that it would be a tall order to remain composed. "But at the same time, we can't hide forever."

"You think it's better to get it over with?" John asked. "Get thrown in the deep end?"

"No," Monica said. "I'm not keen on getting thrown anywhere. I'm just saying that if it's not today, it'll only be tomorrow."

"Mulder?" John prompted, looking at him across the room.

Mulder spoke softly. "I think it's the truth. I don't think they'll leave us alone, whether we go or not. All I can say is that if we do go, I won't be going for politicians, or for a best selling front page story. I'll be going for Skinner, for Holly ... for all of them."

Monica nodded to herself, feeling the same way.

"Dana?" she asked, seeing her friend deep in thought.

"I think we're all weak and sleep deprived," she said. "And I think it's a long time between now and five o'clock."

There was silence in the room then. Monica still wasn't sure, was still leaning both ways. To distract herself, she drained the remaining few mouthfuls of water from her glass.

Jack spoke up. "You think about it. Whatever you decide, we're with you all the way."

Monica felt overwhelmed with gratitude, for their staunch support, their willingness to stand by them no matter what came. There was silence as Jack's words seemed to reverberate around the room. The fire crackled, and Monica watched the flames dance as she thought over the ceremony.

"What was the fourth thing?" Mulder asked suddenly, and Monica looked up to see him eyeing the piece of paper in Anne's hand. "You said there was something else."

Anne shifted awkwardly. She took a deep breath. "The details of the funerals have been finalised. Jana faxed us through a copy of the schedule."

John groaned and he seemed to sink on the armrest. Monica reached up and took his hand, rubbing her fingers over his. But her eyes remained on the sheet of paper. Now she recognised, even through the back of the page, the shape of the FBI logo in the top corner, and a page full of writing. She exchanged looks with Dana and Mulder. They were both wary, unsure of whether to ask or not.

"What's it say?" Monica asked.

"Who do want to know?"

"Holly," Monica said.

"Wednesday," Anne said, her voice gentle but level. "Two o'clock."

Monica nodded. It was Monday now, so that was the day after tomorrow.

"Kim?" Mulder's voice asked.

"Thursday. Ten o'clock."

"AD Skinner?" John asked. His voice trembled. Monica held his hand tighter.

"Friday," Anne said.

Monica's heart tightened. But there was one last question to ask before she let everything consume her.

Scully asked it for her. "And Brad Follmer?"

"Midday tomorrow."

Monica's chest, already tight, now felt like it was going into a cramp. She was no longer able to stroke John's hand, and felt a role reversal as he comforted her. He put an arm around her. Tomorrow ... it all felt so soon. That was only twenty-four hours from now.

"Is that all you'd like to attend?" Anne asked.

Monica thought she'd be pushing it to gather enough strength to survive one of those, much less all four, and to add any more to their week would be suicidal. A feeling of jealousy stirred in the pit of her stomach at the support enjoyed by John and Dana, their families who stood by them, loved them, but didn't harass or overcrowd like her own parents did. She knew the Doggetts and the Scullys would pull John and Dana through, and wished with all her heart that she had a family like that. A family who she could tell about her real relationship with Brad Follmer without losing their love, and be free to cry with and not be forced to make an effort to smile and be the hero of Mexico, as her father had proudly informed her she was.

"Monica, are you okay?"

Monica's mind snapped back to reality at the sound of Dana's voice, and her concerned blue eyes looking at her from across the room. Then everyone was looking at her, their eyes wondering the same thing.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said quickly. She knew Scully saw right through her, could tell Mulder did too, but was confident they would not press the issue in front of such a large audience, and her theory proved correct when they kept quiet.

"I think four's enough," John said, answering his mother's question.

She nodded. "I'll call her back, ask her to reserve us seats."

Anne then walked out of the room, heading for John's study where she would be able to make the phone call in private. Monica, not able to sit there under the gazes of so many concerned people any longer, got to her feet, aiming to take her empty glass back to John's kitchen.

She found John joining her, somehow standing up and sighing wearily at the same time. "Well I guess we'd better head to work, see what she wants."

"We'll come with you," Mrs Scully said quickly, getting to her feet.

"Mom?" Scully said, narrowing her eyes.

"Not to intrude, dear," she said, patting Scully's arm. "Just to drop you off."

But Scully wasn't to be so easily thrown off, and she still gave her mother a questioning look.

"It's okay, Dana," Tara said, stepping forward. "There's just something we want to do."

"What?"

Christi walked past, her face suddenly sad. "You'll see when you get there."

**_Chapter Seventeen - At the FBI_**

John quickly realised that the new resolution of keeping the four of them together was something his family, and Scully's, were taking seriously. He'd expected to have to separate again for the drive to the FBI, but found everyone insisting he travel with Monica, Dana and Mulder. So they had all piled into Monica's car, and as he'd had the most sleep, he'd been nominated driver. Monica's mother was to go with his own family, and he'd felt unsure about it for a few seconds, until Monica had told him not to worry, that she'd probably have all their life stories by the time they got to the Hoover building. And having seen her mother already in action, he'd had to admit she had a point.

They drove in silence for nearly ten minutes before Mulder spoke, asking how Monica felt. And this time, now they were alone, she didn't lie.

"Not so great," she said.

She was in the front passenger seat, Mulder in the back with Scully, but she didn't turn around when she spoke, instead staring blankly out the window and the swirling grey clouds above them. John knew that for Monica, such an optimist, those words translated to mean she felt terrible.

"What's on your mind?" John asked, glancing at her as he drove. It could be one of so many things that it was too hard to guess.

"I don't know," she said, sounding depressed. "Everything's just so messed up."

John had never seen her so down before, and if he hadn't been driving, he would have hugged her. But all the crowded road gave him time to do was give her a sympathetic glance.

"Would it help if I talked to your parents?" Mulder asked.

"I don't know," she said, again. Still she stared out the window.

"We'll take them aside tonight," Scully said gently.

"I'm not sure it'll do any good," Monica said, finally turning away from the window and looking over her shoulder into the rear of the car.

"No," Mulder said. "But it can't hurt."

John had stopped the car at a red light and he took the opportunity to reach across and rub her leg. She looked down at his hand and then covered it with her own. Her hand felt cold. There was silence for a minute as they all became absorbed in their own thoughts, then Monica looked back over her shoulder.

"You won't tell them about Brad?" she said. "I'd prefer they didn't know."

Scully and Mulder didn't reply, but John surmised that they must have nodded, because Monica turned around again just as the light went green. John slid his hand out from under hers to take the wheel again, and he continued to the slow drive to the Hoover building, to work, to find out what in hell it was Jana Cassidy wanted to bother them with.

They were only a block away from the Hoover building when he saw it. Monica sat up straighter in her seat, and Mulder and Scully both looked down the gap between their seats to stare, too. And then he finally knew what his sister had meant by saying they would see when they got there. The entire front of the FBI was a mass of people, crowding around the main entrance, around the walls where posters were hung of the dead agents. John recognised many agents standing there, some crying with tissues in their hands, some writing messages on the posters and leaving cards and flowers, and then there were hundreds of ordinary civilians: families and friends, and then several prominent politicians milling around the crowd. And that was without even mentioning the media, recording every moment.

"So that's where they're going," Scully said in wonder, and he knew she was referring to their families.

"It's incredible," Monica said, staring at the scene ahead.

John thought it was too, but he felt suddenly unwilling to drive past it, and he swiftly changed lanes in time for the intersection, landing himself in the right turn lane.

"What are you doing?" Monica asked.

"Going 'round the back," he said.

None of them questioned him.

Five minutes later the car was parked in the FBI parking garage, and the four of them were walking together to the employee entrance. He found their pace naturally slowing, and he knew the other three felt the same sense of lead in their legs that he did. It was a dread of what lay inside the building, of the missing people, of the expressions on those they would have to walk past. It was like the building had a mist of heartache floating around it, and John, now that he was here, wanted only to turn around and go home.

Monica, showing her usual sense of intuition, took his hand, gently urging him along to keep walking with her. With his free hand John pinned on his FBI identification to his jacket, and the thought occurred to him how odd it felt to be walking into work dressed so casually in old jeans, in the middle of the day, and with Mulder, Monica, and Dana all looking as awkward and nervous as himself.

What followed was every bit as awful as he'd feared. Before the accident happened, John could've walked from his car to the X-Files office in the space of two minutes. Now, however, it took that long merely to get past security. The two male guards at the employee entrance stopped them to shake all their hands and offer their sincere apologies, to which John had difficulty finding a reply and was glad that Monica was holding his hand. Her depressed mood from the car trip seemed to have faded as she'd somehow found another source of strength, and she kept them walking through the corridors as agent after agent stopped to greet them, to simultaneously congratulate them and offer their sympathies. In the corridor from the parking garage it was Agent Brewster, the fifty-year-old from the labs John had played basketball with in the gym a few times in the days before his transfer to the X-Files. On the way to the lift it was a female acquaintance of Scully's, who was lost for words, and just stepped forward and hugged her, the tears saying everything. Scully was shaken by it, though, and John and Monica let go of each other's hands, and fell a step back to walk with her and Mulder - both of whom were crying silently. In the elevator to the fourth floor it was Agent Haynes, a friend of Monica's up from the New Orleans field office, who greeted her warmly, a tear slipping down his cheek. John had never seen so many FBI agents openly crying before, and his heart tightened with each one he saw. He knew, of course, why it was the case. Everyone in the building had known the sixteen, and everyone had been friends with, or had a working history with, at least one of them. But by the time they reached AD Cassidy's outer office, where her young secretary Jessica was typing quietly, John felt exhausted and was relieved to be able to close the door behind him.

"Agents," Jessica greeted, ceasing typing immediately and standing up. "Please take a seat."

It was a relief to not hear a speech full of sympathies, but John felt too full of nerves to sit down, and he stood in a circle with his three friends, all sharing wary looks about what they had been called in for. Scully wiped away her tears to compose her expression again, and Mulder did the same, taking a deep breath. Monica's arms were crossed against her chest, and John shifted on the spot, restless. He thought of his parents and Christi outside the front of the building, and wondered what they were doing, if they were crying too.

"You can go right in," Jessica said, putting down the phone she'd called Jana Cassidy on. "They're waiting for you."

Scully was nearest the connecting door and she started for it. An expression of professionalism - the look John hadn't seen on her face for three weeks - was set on her face as she straightened her casual coat and walked in. John followed her with Monica and Mulder, but stopped as immediately as Scully did when he saw the scene inside Jana Cassidy's office.

Jana Cassidy was sitting there at the long oval table, a pile of folders and papers in front of her which she was cleaning up from what must have been a meeting that just finished. Next to her was Deputy Director Kersh, who was standing up to greet them, and third at the table was a man with a visitor's badge who John didn't recognise. This man had a mass of papers spread in front of him, and had a pen poised over his notepad. But what surprised him, why Scully had stopped so abruptly, was the look of coldness on all three faces. The compassionate face of Jana Cassidy John had got to know over the last three days was now replaced by cool professionalism. Kersh, who had surprised them after their rescue by showing up with flowers and a kind attitude, was back to his usual self. The visitor was silent, but watching their every move.

"Agents," Kersh said, striding toward them. "It's good to see you."

Scully shook his hand, but her expression was made of steel and she let go fairly quickly and proceeded to the table to sit down opposite Jana Cassidy. John, Monica, and Mulder all did the same, and Kersh came back to the table and took his seat, clasping his hands together.

"Agents, this is Peter Maclennan, the Bureau's legal representative."

In a flash, John understood. The presence of the Bureau's legal representative now could only mean one thing; the FBI was worried about a law suit. But it did not explain why Jana Cassidy was being so cold.

John gave the man a polite nod, but he looked back to Jana for an explanation. He saw Scully, Mulder and Monica were all doing the same.

"Would you mind telling us what this is all about?" Scully asked bluntly.

"We have - unfortunately - been hearing rumours of law suits being projected against the FBI and the airline responsible for the crash. We have heard of your intentions and were hoping that you would be willing to settle this amicably."

"I beg your pardon?" Scully said, bewildered.

"Have we heard wrong?" Kersh said.

"Heard what wrong?" John asked.

"We have no idea what you're talking about," Monica said impatiently.

There was a confused silence from the three across the table. Kersh and Jana Cassidy both looked at each other. Jana's expression seemed to soften a little.

"Agent Reyes," she said slowly, "are you unaware that your father has announced his intention to sue the FBI for $50 million dollars on your behalf?"

Monica stared.

Jana sighed and opened one of her folders to pull out a newspaper clipping. It was entitled 'Monica Reyes to Sue', and she slid it across the table towards Monica.

"He said you'd talked about it," Kersh said. "That you were in agreement."

"This is the first I've heard of this!" Monica said, becoming outraged as her eyes scanned the article.

Jana was silent. John could tell she was shocked, and he didn't blame her. He understood now why she had been so cold in greeting them. It was her who had done everything she could to protect them over the last three days. She had been kind and patient, generous toward their families, and now today she had arrived at work to find that the four of them were apparently throwing it all back in her face. It was no wonder she'd been angry. But now, that had all dissipated.

Mulder turned to Monica. "When you said this morning that your father had a meeting with his lawyer about the sale of his business. Are you sure that was true?"

"I had no reason to think it wasn't," she said, raising her eyes from the article. "I mean, I ..."

She drifted off and shook her head. It was obvious to John, as to them all, that her father had lied. Monica became silent. The anger that had flared within her gave way to the same depressed look she had worn on the drive over. John, not sitting next to her, watched as Scully reached over and took her hand. Within himself, he felt his anger at her parents grow. His patience with them was running out, and though Mulder and Scully were planning to talk with them that night, he wondered how much more damage they would do to Monica in the meantime.

John looked up at Jana and Kersh. "I think I speak for everyone when I say that we have no intention of suing anyone, least of all the FBI."

Jana nodded. "I apologise for the misunderstanding."

Monica shoved away the article as though she couldn't bear to look at it any longer. "May I use your phone?"

"Of course," Jana said, completely friendly again. She got to her feet. "We'll give you some privacy."

Jana, Kersh and Peter Maclennan all picked up their things and began to leave. Monica got up too, heading for the phone on Jana Cassidy's desk, but as Monica picked up the receiver, Jana called out softly from the doorway.

"Agent Reyes?"

Monica looked up at her. Jana had closed the door again after Kersh and Peter Maclennan had left, to prevent anyone outside from hearing what she was about to say.

"Our sources also tell us your father has invited Doctor Kevin Cheung from Harvard to assess your condition."

Again, Monica looked surprised, but Scully exhaled slowly.

John looked at her.

"He's a world leader in the field of post-traumatic stress," she explained.

John had had enough, and not able to sit still any longer, he pushed his chair back and walked over to join Monica.

Jana opened the door again. "Take as long as you need. I've got some business to attend to downstairs."

She left, closing the door behind her. John heard both Scully and Mulder get up and they soon joined them standing around Jana's desk.

"Are you okay?" John asked Monica, putting a hand on her shoulder.

But Monica's expression was full of venom, and she was apparently too furious to reply. She jabbed a cell phone number into the phone, and then John was left with nothing to do but stand with her as her father answered the phone, and the two of them proceeded to have a very emotional exchange, all in Spanish. But it was short-lived, and after less than thirty seconds she put the phone down again and stood back.

"They're coming up," she said simply.

"Would you like us to leave you alone?" Mulder asked.

"No," she replied. "I'd appreciate it if you could stay."

John squeezed her shoulder again. There was no way he was going to leave her with this one.

"What would you like us to do?" Scully asked.

Monica shook her head. Then, having a second thought, she reached under the back of her coat and pulled out her gun. She pushed it into Scully's hands.

"Just mind that for me."

**_Chapter Eighteen - Reyes vs Reyes_**

Five minutes later they were seated at the lounge suite in Jana Cassidy's office. Monica was sipping another glass of water that had been fetched from the kitchenette by Scully, John was sitting beside her, leaning forward with his hands clasped together and Mulder sat in the single chair, Scully opposite him in the other. Monica hadn't said anything since she'd passed her gun to Scully, and Mulder could see the restless look in her eyes as she tried out different sentences in her mind. Then they heard the footsteps of two people in the outer office and Jessica opened the door a little.

"Agent Reyes, your parents are here to see you."

Monica stood as her parents entered, visitors badges attached to their jackets. Mulder was used to them smiling, charming everyone they set their eyes upon, but now whatever Monica had said to them on the phone had stifled their happiness for their faces were of suppressed anger.

"Sit down," Monica said, waving to the double sofa opposite her, between the single seats of Mulder and Scully. Mulder knew her choice of English was a deliberate sign to her parents that she wasn't willing to cut the other three of them off by talking in Spanish, and he knew her father realised it when he sat down and talked in English, too.

"What's this about?"

Her mother sat beside him, looking tense. Monica resumed her position next to John. She suddenly looked nervous and unsure of her words, and Mulder, who had been worried enough about Monica already before this extra burden had been dealt, took control of the conversation.

"Mr and Mrs Reyes, we've just been informed of your plans to sue the FBI," he said, pausing for effect.

Scully, following his lead, added, "Assistant Director Jana Cassidy and Deputy Director Kersh seemed to be under the impression that it had been Monica's decision."

"You talk to me like I'm a criminal," he said.

Mulder stayed quiet, not willing to get into a petty war of words and keen to stick to the point.

"Why'd you do it?" Monica asked softly, meeting her father's eyes.

"Were they not responsible?" he countered. "Did they not order you to catch that plane during a storm when they have a duty of care over you? Did that plane not crash and put you through two weeks of misery?"

"It's not their fault," Monica said firmly.

"And it's not the point," John added swiftly, glaring across at them.

"What is the point?" Monica's mother asked, turning her attention to John.

"It didn't occur to you to discuss this with her first?"

"At what point do you suggest I should have done that?" Monica's father said. "When she was vomiting or when she was asleep?"

"Sometime before the FBI got wind of it and hauled her in here to kick her ass," John said.

"Monica, may we talk to you alone?" her mother said sweetly.

"No," Monica said, her tone angry. "We're all in this together."

Her father eyed her carefully. "You're that angry."

"Yes," she said, nodding. "I'm that angry."

There was a pause in the conversation. Mrs Reyes seemed to have no idea what to say, which Mulder wasn't surprised by, suspecting that she had known very little about it. But Mr Reyes leaned back in thought, and after a while, he pushed himself to his feet with a sigh and walked around the coffee table before sitting himself down on it, knees touching Monica's, reaching out to hold her hands.

"Would it help if I said I'm sorry?" he asked gently, with the air of a man swallowing his pride. Mulder was grateful he was at least smart enough to see that arguing all day with her was only going to make things worse.

"It'd be a start."

"Then I'm very sorry," he said.

Monica nodded again, but this time it wasn't in anger, but acceptance. She looked down at him holding her hands and seemed to be moved by it.

"Why'd you do it?" Mulder said softly, repeating Monica's earlier words.

"What are we _to _do?" Mrs Reyes said, breaking her silence. "We wake up one morning to a phone call from your boss saying you're missing. A few days later they announce they think you're dead. They say they can't even find you, that we'll never even get your body, never know where you are. Then two weeks later we hear you're alive after all, that you nearly killed yourself walking out. And then they tell us things: that you nearly starved to death, that two of your colleagues killed themselves, that everyone else died, that you were nearly buried alive, that they think you'll _never _get over it!" Her voice became hysterical, tears rolling down her face as she talked. "And we come to Vancouver and see our happy baby girl has become a walking skeleton, and her eyes are haunted ... and we can see you can hardly stand on your feet, your stomach can't handle food or water, and you are constantly crying. And what are we _to _do? How can _any _parent sit back and accept that happening to their child?"

She dissolved into tears, crying into her hands and rocking back and forth. After a second of stunned silence, during which Mulder felt his heart melt, he saw Scully leave her seat and move to sit next to Mrs Reyes. She put an arm around her and pulled a few fresh tissues out of the pocket of her coat, gently pushing them into Mrs Reyes' hands.

"Mrs Reyes, no one's saying that this isn't extremely hard," Scully said gently, rubbing her back. "But we're to be thankful for getting out of there at all. And it isn't easy to see someone you love be nearly destroyed. But it isn't by the FBI, or by the airline, but by an unprecedented combination of bad luck and Mother Nature. I think that in coming out of this we're all in the process of accepting that things are forever changed. We've seen and experienced things that are going to be with us every day for the rest of our lives, and yes, that's going to be difficult. But looking for revenge and engaging us in a senseless battle against the FBI for which we don't have the strength, certainly doesn't help. What we need from you, from my family, from John's, is emotional support. We need you to be willing to listen, to be understanding ... just to be there."

Mrs Reyes continued to cry, but she slowly began to calm under Scully's kindness.

"Do you understand?" Scully questioned gently.

"Yes," Mrs Reyes said, emerging from her hands and dabbing at her eyes with the tissues. "I think I understand."

Opposite them, where Monica, John and Monica's father had all been watching silently, Monica let go of her father's hands and crossed to kneel in front of her mother.

"I'm sorry," Monica's mother said.

But Monica was lost for words, and after a second of looking into each other's wet eyes, they hugged, Mrs Reyes pulling her daughter tight against her, and Monica trying to comfort her mother. Mulder, watching them, wondered after all Monica had been through, after the hard night and even worse day that had followed, how she could possibly have the strength left to comfort them, to forgive them. But she did, and Mulder admired her for it. Her strength reserves seemed never ending. And next to them was Scully, who had let go of Mrs Reyes when Monica hugged her, but now sat beside them, so touched that she had tears in her eyes. He knew now they would not have to bother about taking Monica's parents aside. Thanks to Scully's strength and heart, it was already done, and he felt a huge surge of emotion within him as he fell in love with her all over again - just as across on the opposite couch, he saw John doing the same with Monica.

**_Chapter Nineteen - The Media Moves In_**

It had been another ten minutes at least before they'd all left Jana Cassidy's office. It had been a while before Monica and her mother had stopped hugging, and then when everyone had dried their eyes on Scully's pocket supply of tissues, her parents had spent another few minutes awkwardly negotiating a road to repair the mess they'd made. At last her father had agreed to go tell the media the truth, so that Monica would not suffer from speculation any longer, and also to call off the visit of Doctor Kevin Cheung. The first had been fairly readily agreed to, the second a challenge. Her father had been fairly adamant that he wanted to get Monica checked out, and that the cost of getting the best doctor in the world was not an issue. He wanted a guarantee she was okay, and professional treatment if she wasn't. But Monica had been equally, if not more adamant, that she did not need a doctor. In her eyes, the talks the four of them had received from the psychiatrist Doctor Moore in Vancouver had been more than adequate, and she knew there was an unspoken belief between themselves that they could handle it if they stuck together. Scully was a doctor, Mulder an expert psychologist, and that was enough. No doctor or shrink in the world could help her more than Scully or Mulder. So after several minutes of arguing the point, with a little backup from the others, her father had finally given in and her parents had left to go back out to the street and make the arrangements.

But when the four of them had made their exit through Jana's outer office, Jessica had stopped them, saying that Jana wanted to talk to them again when they were ready. Monica had felt impatience at the request, not believing there was more when she'd been hoping to head back to the car and get away from it all, head back to John's and somehow spend a lazy afternoon straightening things out in her head. But then she'd seen the look of curiosity in John's eye, and when Jessica mentioned that Jana was waiting for them in Tony Macmillan's office, it had all fallen together, her mind clicking back to Bill's words:_ "We know they've been fielding your media offers."_

So they rounded several corners, receiving stares from every agent they passed, and knocked on the door of Tony's office. Seconds later AD Cassidy answered it, her hands full of papers, looking flustered.

"Come in," she said, opening the door wide for them and shutting it again when they were in. Monica's first feeling was utter disbelief. She had never known any office in the FBI - outside of the X-Files - to be such a pigsty. It was not a large room, because normally even the most publicised cases didn't need a large staff on the Bureau's end. There were ten desks in two lines of five, several televisions, and a large oval table at the end of the room. Each desk was occupied by an agent, all of them talking in a rush on the phone, and looking so harassed that Monica knew they had all been on the phone all morning. The computer screens showed news web sites, where Monica saw her own face staring back at her from both the BBC and CNN sites, and the table at the front of the room was buried under piles of newspapers which showed headlines back to the first day they were missing.

"How did it go?" Jana asked, turning to Monica with a kind face. "Is it resolved?"

"Yes," she said, keeping her voice low and a wary eye on the all the agents at the desks behind Jana. "They're going to announce an apology."

"Good," Jana said. "Hopefully that'll take the pressure off us. We've had every journalist on the planet on the phone asking us for comment."

"Well feel free to tell them it was a misunderstanding," Monica said. "We're not suing, and Doctor Cheung will be returning to Harvard."

"He won't, actually," Jana said.

"What do you mean?" Scully asked, confused. Her eyes had been on Mulder, who had drifted off to the oval table of newspapers, but she looked back to them now, as did John.

"His trip was for a dual purpose," Jana explained. "Yes, your father did ask him to come here to examine you to inform his law suit, but we'd already secured him to do some group counselling sessions."

John frowned, suddenly looking depressed. "Things that bad, huh?"

Jana nodded wearily. "I don't think there's an unbroken heart in the building. We've got a long road ahead of us, I'm afraid."

None of them said anything, not knowing how to reply to this. The enormity of the outside trauma was still sinking through into Monica's mind. Until that morning, she had been so wrapped up in her own pain, and that of Mulder, Scully and John, that she was only just realising how far the tragedy had stretched. Theirs were not only the only hearts that had broken, even if they were the ones in the worst shape.

"But nevermind," Jana said, taking a deep breath. "There is some good news."

She turned around and began walking them to the furthest desk. The agents on the phones looked up as they passed. Was there anyone in the building who wasn't going to stare at her? Monica tried to act normally under their curious gazes but it was becoming very difficult when it simply didn't stop.

"My brother said you've been receiving some interview offers," Scully said, as they gathered around the desk where Tony Macmillan sat. Monica noticed the three empty coffee cups on his desk, the rings under his eyes and wondered if he'd had any sleep, or even gone home, since leaving Vancouver.

"Yes, we've been fielding your offers as a matter of courtesy," she said. "For obvious reasons we didn't want to bother you with it until it became absolutely necessary. But unfortunately they are starting to pile up and we need a decision from you as to what you want to do."

"What's the Bureau's position?" Monica asked. She watched as Tony Macmillan wedged the phone between his neck and shoulder, freeing his hands up to grab a mountain of paper from one of his trays and hand it to Jana. Altogether it was several inches thick. Jana took it, nodded her thanks and the four of them walked away from Tony's desk to the oval table where Mulder was standing, still engrossed in the collection of newspapers.

"Well as you weren't on official business during the time of the accident, and it is largely a personal matter, you are quite free to do as you wish. We would like to ask that you don't talk about the investigation from which you were returning, or indeed anything which may be considered confidential by the FBI. But in terms of your own personal journeys, it is completely up to you. In fact, we're quite happy to hand everything over to you, should you wish it."

She put the mass of paper down on top of one of the newspapers.

"If it's all the same to you, I think we'd prefer to leave it in the Bureau's hands," John said, eyeing the pile of paper with distaste. Monica knew John had pushed himself enough to endure the FBI's initial interview, and would have no desire at all to open his heart up to the world's media, no matter how much they offered. She saw the same look in Scully's eyes, which were bordering on bored, already wandering over the headlines of the newspapers Mulder was reading. Monica thought she saw her tremble slightly. And it was quite clear that Mulder's mind was somewhere else entirely. He was not being rude, Monica noticed, but merely deeply immersed in the stories they had, up until now, thoroughly ignored. His eyes were soft, full of a heartache Monica rarely saw him display.

"Well in that case perhaps you'd like to take a look through what we've received so far," Jana said. "Let us know what interests you and what doesn't and we can draft some replies."

"That's a lot of reading," John said.

"If you're after some advice on where to start, you might like to know we've put the items we thought would interest you most at the top." She picked up the first piece of paper. "Most of them are television interviews, an hour or two in duration. There's a few magazine deals, requests for movie rights, but the prices you're looking at ..." Jana paused, clearly doing some quick calculations of all the thousands of pages she had read on their behalf. "Well, anything up to $24 million so far."

Monica saw Mulder and Scully both snap back to attention.

"Excuse me?" Scully said, eyes widening.

"How much?" Monica said.

"$24 million," Jana said, smiling slightly. "Six million each, two hour television interview to air next week. Of course that's just a rough figure and it could quite easily go higher, even double, the competition is so fierce. Just give us the word and you'll never have to work again."

They all stared. Jana began shuffling through the top layers of her pile, glancing at letters and faxes showing figures and contact details. When none of them replied, she talked on.

"The problem is we'll need an answer quite soon. Most of these offers hinge on the interview being done as soon as possible. They want to strike while the story's still fresh, before the public interest begins to wane. "

"Have they given any indication of the questions they'd like to ask?" Mulder asked.

Jana suddenly looked a little awkward. "Well that's the other issue. The prices look impressive, but if you accept, I should warn you they are all expecting value for money. It equates to about a dollar per tear, I'd say. You'll be expected to talk about anything the interviewer wishes, and in the most intimate detail."

Monica turned away. She'd seen that part coming, from the moment Jana had mentioned the dollar figure attached to their mouths. There was no doubt the money would be useful. It would mean none of them would have to work again if they did not want to. She knew she could buy herself a place, invest the remainder to ensure a steady income, take a long vacation, and then only work out of a hobby and to keep her mind active. But on the other hand, six million still felt like far too little for talking about something which still felt so personal. She wanted no part of it, and knew with one glance at her friends that they didn't either.

"Anyway," Jana said softly. "Take this to read, have a talk about it amongst yourselves, and get back to us when you've made a decision."

She put the papers in her hands back into a neat pile, and after another second, started to walk away. Monica felt Jana squeeze her arm sympathetically as she passed.

"Well what do you think?" Scully asked, as Jana disappeared and the chatter of agents busy on their phones sheltered their conversation.

"What is there to think?" Mulder said, his voice low. "Have someone pay you $24 million to hang a noose around your neck and then spend two hours tightening it on international television."

The two of them looked across the table to John, but he sighed and picked up the topmost piece of paper, his face full of disgust.

Monica walked to the window behind the table and gazed out at the low grey clouds hanging over DC. She could tell it was freezing outside. The people in the crowds outside the building were all wearing scarves and coats, and Monica thought it would soon rain, maybe even snow by the evening. She watched them for a while. She hadn't had a chance to have a good look from the car, but now she saw at least half the crowd were FBI agents. She saw many familiar faces. Or at least they were shades of people who _had _been familiar. Now they looked different. Their faces were not those of professionalism, not those of hurrying, frazzled colleagues she had passed in the corridors before the accident, or made small talk with during elevator rides. They were not those people who were bored during team meetings, who tapped their pens on their notepads and checked their watches, wishing they were someone else. They were sad, morose, depressed. They huddled together in groups, some were hugging, had arms around each other. Others were standing by themselves in front of the posters, or shaking hands with politicians who had decided the FBI was the place to be. But all of them were different people to who she remembered. And she knew this was what Jana had hinted at when she referred to the long road ahead. It was obvious the FBI was struggling with the number of grieving souls within its walls, and had opened its doors, letting them out to express their sadness, like a form of group therapy. It also explained why she had seen Michael Haynes in the corridor earlier. Was the FBI bringing in agents from its field offices to help with the staff shortage? For the shortage now was not just from the sixteen agents the FBI had lost, but also of the hundreds who had been struck down by the emotional shockwaves. Yes, she thought, the FBI was crippled.

That thought broke her heart, but it was not that that hit her hardest. What hit her hardest were the ordinary people standing around the posters, desperately gripping each other, crying into each other's shoulders. These people, Monica knew could only be the families of those they had left behind. She watched one girl barely ten years old being held by her father, his hand stroking her long blonde hair. Her face was red from crying, her cheeks wet. Was she the daughter of one of the women who had died? Further along a man was adding a bouquet of roses to an already huge pile of flowers stacked against the wall. His hand shook as he propped them up against the others, and his hand then drifted to his face, his head bowed. He had lost someone. Someone Monica had probably held, had probably carried out to that line of bodies she had put in the snow. As she watched him her heart went from curious to moved. Her heart began to pound in her chest, the blood surging in her veins with a strange adrenaline rush. Beyond him, Monica saw two teenage girls with their arms around each other, rocking as though to music Monica couldn't hear. And suddenly she forgot about the media deals which had been annoying her only seconds before. She forgot about the voices behind her, and everything and everyone else in the room. She watched the outpouring of emotion below on the street, for an ordeal she had endured. And she longed to be a part of it. For there was a reflection of the unendurable pain she felt within herself, and media or not, she knew that sharing it, being a part of it, had to help more than keeping herself isolated in her own mind.

"Monica?"

Someone put an arm around her and shook her gently. She looked up to see John's worried eyes. Mulder and Scully were next to him, equally concerned, and Monica wondered how long they'd been saying her name and trying to get her attention.

John rubbed her back. "Are you OK?"

But Monica's sense of need to be on the street was strengthening, and it overtook everything in her. She turned to her three best friends, her mind suddenly made up, every muscle tight with a determination she had not felt since leaving the mountain.

"Monica?" Scully asked softly.

Monica took a deep breath. "I'm going down."

**_Chapter Twenty - Outside the FBI_**

Scully did not think this was a good idea, and when Monica rushed out of the room, her face set and determined, Scully jogged after her, John and Mulder running with her. They caught up with her two offices down on her way to the elevator. Being early afternoon, there were many agents wandering the corridors and it didn't allow for private conversation, but John took her arm and led her sideways into an empty meeting room, shutting the door behind them all.

"Are you crazy?" was the first thing he said to her.

"I'm not asking you to come," she said firmly.

"They'll eat you alive," Scully said. She tried to retain a gentle tone, but it was hard. Monica had had next to no sleep, had not eaten anything for nearly 18 hours, was still recovering from dehydration, and was emotionally exhausted. It was a recipe for disaster.

"Maybe," she agreed. But her tone dismissed the idea as insignificant. Scully tried to figure out what Monica's motivations were, but she was coming up blank.

Mulder reached forward and put a hand on her shoulder. "Monica..."

"I _need _to do this," she said, meeting him squarely in the eyes.

Five minutes later Monica was standing just inside the Bureau's main entry doors, her face still as determined as it was upstairs. Scully had followed her, not because she thought it was a good idea, but because her heart refused to let Monica go alone, the same reason that John and Mulder were forcing themselves to tail her as well. There was no talking her out of it. Scully had seen the look of tenacious determination on Monica's face only a few times since knowing her, but she'd learned it was pointless to argue against it. When Monica's heart took hold of something, it simply didn't let go until the job was done. It was the same force within Monica Scully knew they all owed their lives to. It was that fire behind her eyes that had forced them all to keep hiking when Scully had been ready to give up. When they'd _all _been ready to give up. It was a personality trait Scully respected, even though she had trouble understanding it. So she followed her, would stick by her, and pray that it wouldn't end in the disaster she was sure it would.

"We can still turn around," John said, talking to Monica as she headed for the automatic doors. On the other side, off to the left, was the crowd.

But Monica ignored him, and before he could protest further, she had walked through the doors and was outside in the cold wind, pulling the sides of her coat together and folding her arms. Scully did the same, shivering instantly as she followed Monica into the weather. There was nothing for a moment, until they turned the corner and the crowd came into view. There was a sea of people, the media amongst them, and Monica's walking slowed a little on the concrete. Then someone shouted and the media swarmed in, running forward and stopping them in their tracks. But Monica stood her ground, this time not shrinking away at all. She stopped to allow them to photograph her, althrough she didn't answer any of their questions. Scully stood beside John, trying to muster up some strength, but the flashes in her face were blinding her and she looked away, squinting. Mulder was standing beside Monica, looking almost as confident as her, but Scully knew his reason was to catch her when she fell, rather than to play games with the cameras and provide some happy photo opportunities. Scully felt John take her arm, but she was unsure whether it was to comfort her or comfort himself. Either way, she was glad of the chance to slip her hand into his.

Then everything began to speed up. Looking back, she wasn't quite sure how it had all happened. She only remembered a series of strange moments and it wasn't quite easy to figure out how they had all gone together. She remembered her family jogging toward her, then Bill standing in front of her, blocking the cameras from her face.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed, putting a protective hand on her shoulder. She remembered seeing Christi, Anne and Jack behind him, and then John's fingers had slipped out of hers, but she hadn't seen where he went past Bill's protective stance. Then when she had had a chance to glance past him, Monica and Mulder were both gone, and when her eyes searched the crowd, she saw Monica had been nabbed by her parents, and was glad, for the first time, that they were sticking to her like glue.

"Dana..." her mother said, putting an arm around her.

But Scully's mind had frozen. She couldn't see John and Mulder, and felt unbearably isolated. She began to walk again, veering around the cameras, walking with Bill, Tara and her mother, but stopping suddenly when something painful fell into her sight: a poster of Kimberly, in front of which were a pile of flowers, and several FBI agents. Kimberly's happy, smiling face distracted her completely from her search for Mulder and John. She stood close to the poster, staring at her friend, and the memories came back: Monica sitting in the snow, holding a hysterical Kim in her arms when they'd found Holly dead; Kimberly losing control, swearing at them and storming off into the snow herself; chasing Kimberly through the soft snow and then comforting her when they 'd caught up; hugging Kimberly goodbye when she'd left with Skinner, feeling her warm body in her arms; sitting with Monica in a snow pit, wiping the snow away from Kimberly's dead body, stroking the cheek of her dead friend and hating the world.

"Dana?" Tara said. She stood in front of her, stroked her hair, but Scully saw only her memories.

"Let's get you out of here," Bill said. He took her arm and tried to lead her, but Scully's feet were lead and she couldn't move. And then, suddenly, she didn't want to move. She looked up and saw the crying faces under the grey winter clouds, saw the scene of grief in front of her, and she understood what it was that had taken such a strong hold of Monica. She felt unable to move, unable to think, but knew she didn't want to leave. Whereas before she had wanted to rush back to their car, she knew there was nothing there for her now. She was a prisoner of this powerful pain.

"No," she said, and tried vigorously to shake him off, walking blindly instead in the opposite direction to which he had tried to lead her. And then there was another poster in front of her, another, smaller, set of flowers, another set of crying FBI agents, and, perhaps, relatives? But yes, they had English accents; Brad Follmer's family, who had fought with him in recent years, but now who had flown over from London and were crying in front of his poster. They looked up as she approached, staring at her, but Scully's eyes were focused on the face in the poster. She did not feel the love for him that she had felt for Kimberly, but the surge of emotion within her was just as powerful. She still saw it: Follmer lying dead in the snow, blood flowing from the wound in his head; Monica falling to Follmer's side and losing control; sitting on some abandoned luggage, trying to reassure Monica it wasn't her fault; dragging Follmer's heavy body and adding it onto the end of the line...

She put her hand over her mouth as a wave of nausea flared from her stomach. She looked back up at Follmer's family: what must be his parents, his sister and his brother-in-law, all staring at her, looking as though they wanted to say something, but not finding words to express it. She thought she saw his mother edge forward, as though she had wanted to hug her, but she stopped again, seeing something in Scully's face which brought the move to a halt. In hindsight, Scully later wished she had said something to them. Exactly what, she wasn't sure, but something soothing, a snippet of something that had happened up there for which they could be proud of him. But in reality, she couldn't bear to look at them, and instead looked past them, again searching the crowd for Monica, John and Mulder. But she didn't see them. She heard her family's voices, felt their hands on her back and shoulders, but it all blurred in her mind.

Then she thought she saw someone else, a man weaving his way through the crowd, a man with red hair, a navy uniform, and a bag over his shoulder.

"It's Charles," she heard her mother say. Bill suddenly left her side, striding forward, and Scully automatically began to follow. But then she felt weak, spots appeared in her vision, and the world left her as she fainted unconscious onto the concrete.

The media swarmed.

* * *

_I can't say I particularly enjoyed writing this part, but I thought it was all necessary stuff. Now it's done I can get back to business. :)_

_If anyone has any ideas as to what they can eat for dinner, I'm all ears. I'm a bit stuck on it. Something half healthy, relatively easy to prepare... I don't know._

_Thanks for reading, and special thanks to those who have given feedback so far! Love you!_


	4. Chapter 4

**_Chapter Twenty-One - What Were You Thinking?_**

When Scully woke there was a circle of faces peering down at her. Her mother's hand was on her forehead, her touch gentle and loving, Tara was kneeling on her left, and Charles was on her right. They were all leaning over her, crowding her space, and when flashes of lights hit her eyes she understood: they were sheltering her from the media, who were shouting and all trying to get pictures of her on the ground. Scully took a deep breath. She felt dizzy and weak, and tried to pull herself together. Her head also hurt from when she'd hit the concrete, although she didn't remember the impact.

"Dana, are you all right?" Tara asked, peering into her eyes.

Scully swallowed, her head still spinning. More lights flashed in her eyes, she heard the continual clicking of camera shutters and tried to look away, but there was no escape.

All of a sudden there was shouting. She heard people running, and from the gaps between her family members she saw Mulder, Monica and John pushing their way to the front of the crowd. Behind John came his family, their faces worried, but they immediately peeled off once they'd sussed out the situation and saw the cameras. Jack headed for the one nearest her, a reporter who had pushed to the front and was leaning over her legs, he grabbed the young man's shoulders and pulled him back, putting a hand over the camera lens as he did. Bill was at his side, doing the same with someone else, and Christi and Anne soon joined in, their tempers flaring in what soon became a shouting war, the Doggetts and Bill all disgusted by the media's lack of respect for her dignity.

"Dana, can you get up?" her mother asked, stroking her forehead.

Scully put a hand over her face, trying to block herself from view. Tara and Charlie both leaned further over her. She heard Bill in a shouting match with someone. And then other voices, other FBI agents who were rallying to protect her.

Then there was a softer voice, Mulder's voice.

"Scully, you with us?"

She removed her hand a little to see him kneeling next to Tara. His hand squeezed her shoulder, his eyes were scared.

"I'm all right," she said quickly, but she didn't feel it. Her heart was beating irregularly, and she felt giddy. She was sure if she sat up she'd faint again.

"We've gotta get you out of here," he said. "Can you sit up?"

"Yeah," she said. "Just give me a sec'."

Monica's face came into view, lowering herself onto the concrete beside Charlie. "Come on," she said, reaching for her hand.

Scully was about to take Monica's offered hand, but Charlie gently pushed Monica's hand away and took Scully's shoulders, pulling her into a sitting position. Tara, Mulder and her mother all leaned back to allow her room. Then, before she knew what was happening, Charlie had an arm around her waist, one under her knees and was lifting her up.

"Charlie, I'm -"

"Quit the heroics, Dana," he said, as she put an arm around his shoulders to hold on. "Now's not the time."

Her head spun and she leaned it against his shoulder. Her hair fell around her face, but she didn't brush it away, she let it block the media's view of her. She closed her eyes against the soft material of Charlie's navy uniform, and let the world behind her blur. A minute later the shouting disappeared and she heard the voices of the FBI security guards at the main entrance. She looked up to see them waving them all past into the corridors behind, and one male guard led Charlie into a back room, a presently empty office where there was a leather sofa upon which Charlie gently laid her down.

"God you look ill," he said, supporting the back of her head as he put her down.

Scully felt herself shivering violently, but she looked up into her younger brother's worried eyes and felt touched by his worry. "Thanks a lot."

"You're welcome," he said, and despite the situation he smiled at her, his eyes twinkling, giving away the playful, joking look Scully rarely saw him without. "You really look like hell."

He stood up and stepped back and Mulder perched on the edge of the couch. Behind him, Scully saw everyone else had come into the room. Her mother was standing next to Charlie, arms folded tensely across her chest. Tara and Bill were nearby. Monica and John were standing together at the foot of the sofa, both looking terrified. John's family were across the room, Christi's expression as hard as her father's, and in the doorway were Monica's parents, who had followed everyone in.

"Do you want us to call a doctor?" Mulder asked softly, putting a hand on her stomach.

Scully shook her head. "I'll be fine in a minute."

"Are you sure?" he asked. "You're shaking."

"Here," John said, and he slipped off his grey coat and handed it across to Mulder. Mulder took it and spread it over her, tucking it around her at the sides.

"I'll get you a drink," Monica said, and left John's side, heading for the door and the kitchenette Scully knew was just around the corner. The irony of it wasn't missed on Scully, who had been fetching Monica drinks all day. In fact, if anyone had fainted on the steps of the FBI, she would have thought it would be Monica. But she looked much better now. Tired, still thin and weak, but in good spirits.

She felt awkward, lying there with so many people watching her, and tried not to pay attention to them, but when she saw Charlie's grin over Mulder's shoulder, she gave him a puzzled look.

"It's just a relief to know you haven't changed," he said. "There I was all worried I wouldn't recognise you, but you're just the same old headstrong Dana you've always been."

She wasn't sure whether that was a compliment or not, but decided to let him be amused. It was a lot better than the stern expression on her mother's face, mirrored by Bill, and, as she glanced across the room, by the three Doggetts, who were reserving the same look for John. John kept his eyes on her and ignored them.

"Yeah, well, it's lucky," John said, not sharing Charlie's light-heartedness. "Without your sister's strength we wouldn't be here."

Charlie's smile fell under John's words.

"Well I'm very proud," Charlie said, turning serious. "And I know Dad would've been too."

Scully's heart was smiling, and after a second in which they locked eyes, she pushed herself into a sitting position and reached out for him. John's coat fell into her lap, Mulder stood up to let Charlie near, and Charlie came and perched on the edge of the sofa where Mulder had been. Then they held each other. She held him for the compliment he'd given, for the fact he'd known instinctively how to reach her, for the cheeky grin she hadn't seen in nearly four years, for the little brother she'd been sure she would never see again. He held her warmly, and she kissed him once on the cheek before they slipped apart.

"Thank you for coming," she said, holding his hand.

He smiled. "Thank you for coming back."

Scully lowered her eyes. "I'm not sure I'm the right person to thank for that."

Charlie looked confused, but as Scully searched for some way to explain, Monica came back with a glass of lime cordial. She smiled at Charlie as she walked toward them, and then sat down beside Scully. She handed her the glass.

"Cordial?" Scully said, thinking that she hadn't drunk that since childhood.

Monica put an arm around her. "The sugar'll help."

Scully took a mouthful of the green liquid and swallowed. She felt everyone watching her, and a wave of embarrassment at what had happened flowed through her. She didn't dare look at them, and focused her eyes on the glass, her attention on emptying it.

"Are you feeling better now?" Monica asked, rubbing her back.

Scully nodded. She still didn't look up.

"What happened?" Monica went on. "You seemed all right when we left."

Scully didn't answer straightaway. It was too hard to express what had happened. She hadn't wanted to go down there, had only gone to look after Monica. She knew none of them, especially herself when she had been so sleep deprived for so many nights, were at their strongest. Then she had followed Monica outside, the media had surged forward, her family had tried to rescue her, but she'd been caught by the scene. Caught by Kim and Follmer ... and the memories their faces woke in her.

"It just got to me, I guess," she said at last.

Monica said nothing, and when Scully got the courage to look at her, she saw only understanding in her eyes. Monica's arm slipped further around her shoulders, holding her tighter. In her dark eyes Scully saw the same emotions she felt within herself - grief, sadness, and love for those they'd had to leave behind. For a second Scully simply looked at her, and Monica looked back, and Scully forgot that the room was full of other people ... until her mother spoke up.

"Dana, how can you have thought it wouldn't?" her mother said.

"What were you thinking?" Bill added.

This time Scully did look up and she saw their frustrated faces. They spoke with forced calm, and Scully could tell they were trying to not argue with her, but at the same time thought her actions had been extremely foolish.

Mulder, standing beside Charlie, came to her immediate defence. "I think we just needed to see it for ourselves."

"And that was wise?" Christi said, coming forward into the circle with her parents. Scully saw they were every bit as frustrated as her own family, and it had been an effort to hold quiet even this long.

"What were you looking for?" Anne asked gently. "What were you hoping to find?"

"I don't know," Scully said, shrugging and looking away.

"Understanding," John said, answering his mother's question.

"Of what?" Scully's mother asked.

"Of how far spread this thing is," Monica said. "I don't think we realised until now how many people it's touched."

"So many people," Mulder said, sighing. "Even kids ..."

"I don't know where you've even start, explaining it to a child," John said, a tear appearing in one eye.

"And so many people we've worked with," Scully said, her mind still on the scene she'd faced outside and all her crying colleagues. "And now ... I hardly recognised them."

"Do you think they recognised _you_?" Tara asked softly.

Scully looked up. The faces of the people in front of them had softened, and now they were sympathetic rather than angry. She considered Tara's words, and though she knew the four of them had changed, wasn't quite sure what she was driving at.

"Do you want us to hide?" Scully said. "Crawl into a box somewhere and refuse to come out?"

"No," her mother said. "I want you to look after yourself."

Scully opened her mouth, confused, but Christi spoke up before she could ask what her mother had meant.

"No one's doubting your courage," Christi said, looking around at them all. "You've proven you have courage beyond anything anyone's seen before. You don't have to prove it again by walking into a lion's den and being mauled to death just to prove you're not afraid."

There was a silence after Christ's words. Scully saw now why they had all been so angry, and she saw the wisdom in Christi's words. Had they expected too much of themselves, pushed themselves too hard in going out there? Maybe they were right and they should step back and take more care of their mental heatlh. Maybe if the media hadn't been there, but...

"It was my fault," Monica said, turning to her with tears in her eyes and removing her arm from Scully's back. "I know you only followed me out there."

"No, Monica -"

"Yes," she said, cutting Scully off. She paused. "I should've known. I'm sorry."

Monica began to cry silently, and Scully turned on the sofa and reached up to hug her tight. They wrapped their arms around each other and Scully rocked her gently. The room fell silent. Scully knew everyone was watching them but didn't care now. All that mattered was Monica. They held each other lovingly for a while before a knock at the door broke them apart. Monica's father, who was nearest, opened it and Jana Cassidy came in. At first her step was hurried, but then her eyes landed on Scully and Monica and she slowed, looking suddenly hesitant. Scully pulled back completely from Monica and the two of them straightened themselves up, but they still held hands, their fingers linked and resting them on Monica's knee. Mulder sat himself down on the armrest next to Scully, squeezed her shoulder and nodded at Monica. The single tear in John's eyes had now become many, though Scully knew that this time it wasn't because of what had happened outside.

"Am I interrupting?" Jana asked, standing in the doorway.

"No, come in, Jana," Monica said.

Jana approached the circle of people, one hand clutching some sheets of paper. She looked down at Scully. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," Scully said, wondering how she had heard so quick.

Apparently Mulder was wondering the same thing, because he then asked, "I suppose news travels fast."

"Not half as fast as gossip, I'm afraid," Jana said gravely. She held up the sheets of paper, the top one of which showed a large photograph of herself lying on the concrete with her mother leaning over her. Scully looked away and sighed.

"You've hit the internet already," Jana went on. "You can expect that to carry over to radio and television in about five minutes when the hour ticks over. It's all created a bit of a storm."

"Because she fainted?" Scully's mother asked, taking the printed photos from Jana's hand and switching through them.

"Not quite," Jana said. "More because of the debate it's ignited over media harassment."

"It was a disgrace," Christi said, plainly pissed off.

"Yes it was," Jana said. "Deputy Director Kersh is already drafting our press statement in which we'll be saying pretty much the same thing. But I'm sorry to say there's not much we can do to help. As long as you're in a public place you're considered fair game." She paused. "I'm sorry we didn't see this coming."

"You couldn't have," Scully said. She didn't blame Jana and understood perfectly how little the Bureau could do to protect them.

"Well we'll do what we can. I confess my main concern now is your attendance at AD Follmer's funeral tomorrow. I'm going to get in touch with the church. Technically St Paul's Cathedral is private property and we'll try to ensure that the media aren't permitted inside. We'll at least be able to specify no cameras. But you'll still have to fight your way through the crowds on the steps outside."

"Are you expecting many people?" Tara asked.

"I'd estimate anywhere upwards of 400," she said. She looked down at Scully and Monica. "If I were you I'd arrive at the last minute. I know you don't want to hear this, but I'm afraid half of Washington's going to be there."

"To honour a dead man or get their autographs?" Charlie asked, disgusted.

Jana sighed. Scully knew the truth from that sigh alone, and she glanced across at Monica, not surprised to see her looking annoyed. Scully squeezed her hand.

"I'll do what I can," Jana said sincerely.

There was a moment of silence, and then Jana turned to head back to the door. She had reached for the handle when Anne called her back.

"Jana?"

She turned around to look at John's mother.

"We won't be attending the ceremony this afternoon."

**_Chapter Twenty-Two - Mothers Club_**

Margaret had arrived back at John Doggett's house just after four thirty that afternoon. Dana and her three friends were to detour via Dana and Monica's apartments to pack bags for the night, and had not yet arrived. But everyone else was there. Tara, Bill and Charlie were all seated in the living room, catching up and filling each other in on the events of the last few days. Christi had ducked upstairs to the bathroom. Monica's father was in John's study, making a phone call in Spanish. And Margaret, Anne, Jack and Monica's mother were all standing in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil. Margaret leaned against the bench behind her and gazed idly out the kitchen window into John's backyard, and at the grey, dull sky from which raindrops were beginning to fall.

"It's going to be a cold night," Jack said, looking out the window as the rain begin to pick up and drops splattered on the glass.

"We should light the fire," Anne said. "We'll have to keep the place warm if they're going to spend the night here. You know the doctor said their immune systems were weakened, and the last thing we want is for one of them to catch a cold."

She began to head for the living room, but Jack held up a hand. "I'll get it."

Jack disappeared around the corner and Anne leant back against the bench next to Margaret. Margaret stared at the patterns the downpour was making on the glass. She felt tired. So much had happened since coming back from Vancouver and her weary mind was struggling to keep up with it all. The main problem was it was so hard to know what to do. Dana's instinct was to keep everything bottled up, and though they had managed last night to get her to open up to them a little, and despite the talk they had all witnessed them give to AD Cassidy at the hospital, she still felt completely in the dark about what they were facing. What she needed now was her dead husband. Dana had always been much better at opening up to her father. Melissa, too. But neither of them were here now, and this challenge was greater than any Dana had been forced to deal with before. The only thing Margaret could do was to take each minute as it came.

"There's so much to take in, isn't there?" Anne said.

"I wish I knew what to do," Margaret replied. "I feel like I'm stumbling around in the dark."

"You have a strong daughter, Margaret," Julieta Reyes said kindly. "She'll be fine, given a little time."

Margaret spared the woman a smile, but in her mind she was yet to like Mrs Reyes. It was hypocritical of the woman to try to comfort her when it had been her who had been in such a panic over Monica's state that she had hatched a plan with her husband to sue the FBI. Dana had told her about it briefly in a whisper when Margaret had pulled her aside to make sure she was okay in going alone to their apartments to pack their bags. She knew her daughter well enough to know she was furious about it, even though few others would have spotted it in her, it was so well-hidden. But Margaret shared her daughter's feelings on the matter. As much as she herself didn't know what to do, was at a loss as to how to help, how she should act, there was no way she had ever considered half the erratic things she'd already seen in Monica's mother: crowding Monica half the night at the hospital, suing the FBI, not having the sense to help her daughter avoid dehydration after vomiting the previous night. But, just like Dana, she was aware that she had no right to raise the issue as long as Monica wanted her mother around, and so she spared the woman a smile, resigned to the fact that they were Monica's family, and they were going to be there with them.

"I know you're worried about leaving them alone tonight," Anne said.

"We agreed they need to be together," Margaret said. She was worried, and she knew Anne was too, but the look of relief on Dana's face when they'd told them that morning was a clear sign that it was the right decision, however awkward it felt.

"Christi will be here," Anne said. "She'll call us immediately if anything goes wrong."

Margaret nodded. She liked Christi, and it did help a little to know that she would be there with them, but still she had an irrational feeling of uneasiness. As mother to a woman who had just gone through the worst two weeks of her life, it was hard to have to walk away and leave her alone when her heart screamed to stay near.

"You know, last time we went through this, when Luke was found, we spent many nights awake with John. We were all there; Jack and I, Christi, and Barbara and her family, but it was Christi who pulled him through. They were never even that close until it happened. With a seven year age gap, it wasn't like they grew up together. But she adored Luke, and when it happened, and when John's marriage fell apart, she rose to the occasion like nothing I've ever seen. There were nights we weren't even sure we were going to find him alive in the morning. We were so afraid that if we turned our backs even for a second we'd lose him. But she never gave in. She was there right through it all, through every tear, every argument, every moment when we felt like giving up on the world. I can't say I know how she did it. She just has a way with people. She always has."

Margaret had been watching Anne closely as she talked. She had known about Luke. Dana had mentioned it once briefly, and she had seen Luke's photo framed in the living room. But it was the first time she had heard any of the Doggetts speak about it openly.

It was then that they realised Christi had returned from the bathroom and was standing in the doorway, listening. Her eyes were shining with tears, but she was smiling, having overheard most of her mother's words.

"Thanks, Mom," she said, and walked into the kitchen and kissed her mother. Anne put an arm around her shoulders, smiling.

"Did I lie?" Anne joked.

"We all did our bit," Christi said modestly. She looked over at Mrs Reyes. "Monica was a star, too."

Julieta nodded sadly. "It hit her hard, that one."

There was an awkward pause in which a rumble of thunder echoed around. Margaret looked up at the window again. The light was fading fast, and the backyard was now composed of dark shadows. The water was running down the window in streaks.

"You needn't worry, Margaret," Christi said after a moment. "I'll look after Dana like she's my own sister."

Margaret beamed at the girl who she was liking more and more with each hour that passed. "I know you will."

"But I think they'll be okay tonight," Christi went on. "They're all looking so shaky on their feet that I don't think they'll have much trouble sleeping. And I actually think they need some time alone. They're craving it, and I think the best thing we can do right now is follow their lead." She paused. "In fact, I'm not half as worried about tonight as I am about tomorrow."

Margaret sighed. "The _media_..."

Christi nodded grimly. "Yeah."

There was another pause. Margaret's mind was still stewing furiously over the media's conduct, and the fact that she'd heard the newsflashes on the radio on the drive back from the FBI.

"Margaret..." Anne began thoughtfully.

"Mmm?" Margaret said, looking up.

"Have you ever heard of this man, Brad Follmer?"

"No," Margaret admitted. Of course, Dana didn't tell her much at all about her life at the FBI, and Margaret preferred not to ask, but Follmer had certainly been one person she'd never heard the slightest thing about. "I thought he was a friend of John's?"

"No," Christi said, shaking her head.

"We thought Dana knew him," Anne explained.

"No," she said. She looked over at Julieta. "Does Monica know him?"

"No," Julieta said, looking as surprised as the rest of them. "She tells me about everyone, and she's never mentioned him."

"I guess it must just be the way he died then," Anne said sadly.

"It's bound to affect you, seeing something like that," Christi said.

Margaret looking thoughtfully back out the window. "There's so much they're not saying."

"They'll tell us when they're ready," Christi said gently. "But I doubt it'll be tonight."

Margaret nodded. She knew that with Dana, she always received more answers with the fewer questions she asked. Dana was not one for having information forced out of her, and tended to retreat further if anyone tried. But the sheer amount of things she suspected the four of them were holding back did scare her. It was just so hard to help when she didn't know what she was up against.

**_Chapter Twenty-Three - In the Evening_**

It was a pleasantly slow evening after the hectic day everyone had endured. John knew that everyone except Charles Scully had had very little sleep the night before, and now they were all content to sit around and relax. John, Mulder, Dana and Monica had arrived back about five after stopping at the two apartments to pack bags. Scully had also grabbed some of the food that had been bought by her brother the night before and brought it with her to John's so it wouldn't go to waste. As the Doggetts were yet to do any major grocery shopping, and had only picked up some basics, this worked out well.

The fire in his living room was glowing red hot, and after his friends had dropped their overnight bags in the corner, Mrs Reyes came bustling over to Monica, whose clothes and hair were wet from running through the downpour between the car and his front door.

"You look drowned," Julieta said, leading Monica over to stand in front of the fire.

Monica had her hands jammed into her armpits for warmth, and gladly accepted the fire's warmth.

"Take your jacket off," John said, noting that it was so wet it was probably soaked through. She slid it off and he took it from her and went to hang it up with his own. When he returned, he saw that Tara had given up her chair near the fire and Monica was now sitting in it, leaning forward to catch the warm air. He sat himself on the arm of her chair and reached out to touch her hair. He let some slip between his fingers and felt that it was wet. Monica turned to look at him and a smile played on her lips.

"You want a towel?" John asked.

Monica was smiling, and the sight made him feel like smiling himself. She had such a stunning smile and it had been so long since he'd seen it.

"I'm all right," she said.

John thought, _Like hell you are_, but in present company he chose not to speak his mind.

Then Scully returned from dropping off the food to the kitchen, and Mulder came beside her, holding the mountain of paper Jana had asked them to look through.

"What's all that?" Bill asked curiously.

"All the offers to buy our story," Mulder said, and happily passed it to him.

Bill took it with interest, and soon he, Charlie, Jack and Christi were all poring over the sheets of paper. They had them spread on the coffee table and in their laps, and all of them were clearly stunned, and showing a lot more interest than John and the others felt. Mulder moved to stand in front of the fire, and Scully, who looked exhausted again, sat on Monica's other armrest, looking as disinterested in all the money talk as Monica did. Scully exchanged a look with John over Monica's back that told him everything, and he passed her the same look in return.

"Well," Bill said, after several minutes of absorbing it in silence, "you wouldn't have to work again."

"If I was after money I would have stayed in medicine," Scully said.

"You're not even tempted?" Bill asked, studying her.

"No," Scully said. "I can't say I am."

Bill looked a little surprised and confused, but when he saw the hard look on Scully's face he didn't pursue it. Charlie, on the other hand, looked at his sister with worried eyes. It was quite a change from the joking, easygoing expression John had seen on him all afternoon. And while Scully had met Bill's eyes with defiance, she couldn't even meet Charlie's, and looked away.

"Beats me why anybody would even be interested in such a thing," John said. "Like watching eighteen people die and nearly losing your own life a thousand times over is something to be in awe of."

"Well I daresay it's not quite that which fascinates them," Christi said mysteriously, setting a letter she'd been reading back on the pile on the coffee table.

"What do you mean?" John asked her.

"See it from our point of view," Jack said, throwing a sheet on top of where Christi had just placed hers and leaning back comfortably in his chair. "The FBI is one of the most respected investigative organisations in the world. You represent a very stoic, hard-hearted, highly professional body of people. You go to work one day, get a case not so different from any other, and trot off to Canada to fulfill a noble duty of protecting the public from a mass murderer. No one pays you any attention because it's what the FBI does. But then you go missing. The media start to move in, anticipating the finding of the wreckage and assuming that no one will have survived. Two weeks later you four appear. And then people became interested. And why?" He paused. "Why do you think that is?"

"Because we survived against all odds," Monica said.

"No," Jack said, now leaning forward seriously in his chair. "Not for a mathematical oddity, but for the fact that four agents of this stoic, professional institution to which you belong stumble out of the hills one morning looking pale, emaciated, barely able to stand on their feet. You are four _FBI agents _who held on to each other for dear life, who refused to be separated, who even now, days after, still cling to each other. And to see four professional adults, possibly from the toughest profession in the country, in the grip of such a strong bond makes even the dimmest person wonder: what the hell happened to make them that way? What happened up there in those days after the crash? In the space of a single embrace you've turned the entire reputation of the FBI on its head. You've humanised what previously had no humanity at all. And yes, John, people are awed. And it is by your endurance, your strength, and pure terror at the thought of what you've been through, but more than anything else ... it's the fact that I see four friends who have witnessed something so unthinkable that even now they will all pile onto the one chair rather than be even an arm's length away from each other."

John saw his father smile slightly, but his expression was kind and his tone more observational than teasing or critical. Nevertheless, Christi gave him a quelling look, and then smiled over at the four of them.

"You've done in a few days what the FBI's PR budget hasn't achieved in all its existence," Christi said.

There was silence for a while. John noticed that sometime during his father's talk Mulder had joined them and taken Scully's hand. Monica looked far away in thought. John himself felt more weary than ever.

"But you know," Charlie said, "as true as all that is, I think you're doing the right thing."

Scully looked up at her brother, surprised by his support.

"I can see how much you're struggling with the thought of even telling us what happened up there. And if you can't tell us, there's no way in hell you'll ever be able to tell six billion strangers."

**_Chapter Twenty-Four - Dinnertime_**

At six o'clock, Anne and Margaret brought out dinner. It was a light meal composed of salad and chicken, but Monica still had no appetite to eat anything. She was sitting on the three-seat sofa between Mulder and John, and Scully had somehow started off sitting on the armrest next to Mulder half an hour before, but was now sitting in his lap, his arm unashamedly around her waist. Monica had wondered how her family were taking this, but a quick look around the room told her that Tara and Charlie hardly noticed, Bill was pretending not to notice, and Scully's mother seemed touched by it, as did Christi, who smiled at them when she walked into the room with a plate in one hand and a fork in the other, some lettuce stabbed on the end.

"Here, honey," Monica's mother said, kneeling down and giving her a plate of food, and then kissing her on the forehead as she pulled away. "Try to eat something."

"Slowly," Scully added, concern on her face revealing that she still hadn't forgotten about Monica's sickness the night before.

Monica waited until her mother had walked back to the kitchen before whispering, "I'm not even hungry."

"That's normal," Scully said. "Your body has been starved in the last few weeks, but if you don't force yourself you'll only lose more weight. And I don't think I need point out that you can't afford to do that."

"You're a skeleton," John chimed in, tucking into his own meal. "In case you didn't notice."

"Yeah, well at least I'm a live one," Monica said. It was easy to imagine herself in a box like their friends were. It had almost been that way. But she trusted Scully, and she reluctantly picked up her fork and began to eat, just as Tara brought over a plate each for Mulder and Scully. Scully repositioned herself to allow Mulder room to eat, sitting back on the armrest again, but with her legs still over Mulder's lap, her bare feet touching Monica's thighs.

No one talked as they ate, but the fire crackled and the soft sound of _Lean on Me _was coming from the stereo system across the room. Christi had put a CD of mixed music in there earlier, and Monica thought it was a nice touch because it relieved them of the need to have constant conversation, and bridged the silences which had previously been awkward. She listened to the words of the song as they played. It was a song she had always loved, but now it felt more touching than ever before, and she felt a warmth behind her eyes. She knew she might have cried if it hadn't been for the lucky interruption of the phone from the kitchen. Jack got up to answer it, and a moment later he came into the room again, holding the cordless phone out to Tara.

"Your son," he said, smiling.

Tara grinned and took the phone. "Hi, honey!"

What followed was a string of maternal enquiries which grew into a very one-sided conversation in which Matthew was plainly telling his mom absolutely everything. Tara was grinning as she listened to him, and Monica felt at ease knowing that her son was obviously coping with his parents being away, and with the circumstances that had called them away. But after a minute, Tara's smile faded.

"No, honey ... no, I don't think -"

Tara hastily got up, putting her half-finished meal on the coffee table. Scully looked up from her own meal, but Tara wouldn't meet her eyes, and proceeded to make a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

"Yes, honey, she's still feeling sad..."

Tara disappeared around the corner and Scully looked over at Bill.

"How are they coping?" she asked. She had stopped eating, and looked worried and guilt-ridden.

"Don't worry, Dana," Bill said, with a kindness Monica hadn't yet seen him use. He smiled reassuringly. "Matthew's fine, and Lizzie's too young to understand."

Scully sighed. "What did you tell him?"

"Well we couldn't avoid it," Bill said. "He knew you were missing, and when the rest came out, it was all over the news. He knows you survived a plane crash. We're lucky that he doesn't understand the rest. We told him you were feeling sad, that you need family, and he understands that much."

Scully seemed to cringe with guilt at Bill's words. Mulder put an arm around her and rubbed her back softly.

"He's too young for this," Scully said, shaking her head.

"How old is he?" Monica asked.

"Nearly six," Scully replied. "Lizzie's three."

"Don't worry, Dana," Mrs Scully said. "When I talked to him this morning his biggest worry was having to go to school. He's enjoying being your nephew, he's the centre of attention for everyone on the base."

Scully gave a small, amused smile, but then she looked back at Bill and said, "I hope you're not telling him I'm a hero."

"Let him believe it," her mother said.

"Ignorance is bliss, I'd say," Anne said.

Scully nodded to herself. Monica knew her concern for Matthew's wellbeing was in a tug-of-war with her hatred for being called a hero when she felt she didn't deserve it. But a second later Monica knew Matthew's needs had come first. Scully resumed eating, but Mulder kept an arm around her waist and ate one-handed.

For the remainder of the evening, or at least the part where their families were present, nothing of note happened. Tara returned from her phone call with a wide smile on her face, which comforted Scully, and Monica managed to finish half of the food on her plate without feeling the need to vomit. Monica's mother took their plates and went to the kitchen with Christi to take care of all the dirty dishes. Monica closed her eyes, leaned her head against John's shoulder and let the easy melodies of Christi's CD flow pleasantly into her ears. Several songs on she heard John put his feet up on his coffee table and yawn. Monica opened her eyes as she felt him move with his huge yawn and was in time to see Margaret and Charles come back into the room, which was now empty except for themselves. A wide smile appeared on Margaret's face and Monica looked around, wondering what was causing it, and saw Scully, who had not slept for several nights, was now curled up in Mulder's arms, and eyes closed against his shoulder.

"Is she asleep?" Monica whispered, sitting up while trying not to nudge Dana's feet.

Mulder nodded that she was. Charlie put a hand on his mother's shoulder.

"Maybe it's time we went," he said.

A minute later, the three clans had gathered their things and tiptoed into the living room to say goodbye. Monica and John both stood to say goodbye to their parents, Monica promising her mother in a whisper that she would indeed call if she needed them. John hugged both his parents goodbye, Mrs Scully leaned over her sleeping daughter and very gently kissed her hair, and then Mulder on the cheek. Christi stepped forward to reassure Scully's mother that they would all be fine, and Mrs Scully nodded. Monica knew more would have been said between the group, but Dana was sleeping and no one wanted to risk waking her. So a minute later, John and Monica both followed everyone into the hallway, and then the door opened and they all left, hurrying to their cars, trying to avoid the downpour of rain.

Then Christi closed and locked the door, and Monica leaned backward against the wall, absolutely and completely exhausted.

"Thank God," she said quietly.

Christi smiled.

_**Chapter Twenty-Five - To Sleep**_

Monica ambled back to the living room, and with a feeling of relief at being allowed to be herself again, flopped on her back on the sofa opposite Mulder and Scully. She closed her eyes, enjoying the relative silence and the feeling of peace now that they were alone. Of course, Christi was staying, but Monica somehow didn't mind Christi being there. In many ways, Christi was like John. She had the same trustworthiness, same fierce loyalty, same easygoing manner which relaxed her. She listened to the soothing songs coming from the stereo, to the sound of the rain falling hard outside and the crackling of the fire, and she felt sleep almost take her, as it probably would have if Christi and John hadn't walked into the room at that moment.

Christi dropped into an armchair, leaning forward and putting her hands over her face, sighing. John stopped at the foot of Monica's sofa, and for some reason, his face almost cracked into a smile as he looked down at her.

"What?" Monica asked sleepily.

"Nothin'," he said. His smile vanished and he sat on the armrest near her feet.

Christi emerged from under her hands and looked across at the sleeping Scully.

"We should take her upstairs," she said.

Monica turned her head to look across at her friend. Her face was still buried in Mulder's shoulder, though he had tucked her hair behind her ear. Her legs were curled up in his lap, Mulder's left arm was low around her hips, holding her in place, and his other arm was draped comfortably over her thighs. She looked so cosy that just the thought of moving her felt criminal to Monica.

"You'll wake her if you try," Monica said quietly.

"Leave her where she is," John said. "She sleeps better when she knows she's not alone."

"Nightmares?" Christi asked, looking at Dana with sadness.

"Yeah," Mulder said, in a near whisper. "She hasn't slept well since all this began."

Christi nodded sympathetically. "I'd like to meet someone who has."

Again, Monica felt a rush of sympathy for what Christi and the others must have been through, but now was not the time to ask.

Christi pushed herself to her feet and headed over to the stereo. Monica closed her eyes once again. She heard the music stop as Christi turned the stereo off with a click. Then, a moment later, she heard Christi's foosteps come back softly against the carpet and stop in front of her.

"Monica."

Monica felt Christi's hand touch her shoulder and forced her heavy eyelids open to see Christi leaning over her. Monica saw her own overnight bag over Christi's shoulder.

"Why don't you go get changed," Christi suggested, putting Monica's black bag down beside the couch. "Put on something more comfortable."

She turned away and walked towards John. "You too."

Monica clumsily swung her legs off the couch to the floor and reached down for her bag.

Christi was walking out of the living room, but turned around just as she got to the hallway.

"I'll go get some blankets and pillows," she said, smiling. And Monica knew why she was smiling - because Christi knew, without anyone saying anything, that they would not be sleeping upstairs in beds tonight, but gathered around the fireplace, in the warmth and cosiness of each other's company.

**_Chapter Twenty-Six - We're Not Heroes_**

When Scully woke the room was dark and it took several seconds for her eyes to adjust. The only light was from the fire, its red embers glowing, and from the digital clock on John's VCR which told her the time was just past eleven o'clock. She was wedged between the back of the couch and Mulder, and it was a cosy, warm position, though she had no idea how she had got there. The last thing she remembered had been after dinner, when her mother had taken her empty plate and, once she left the room, Scully had sighed and turned in Mulder's lap, resting her head, just for a moment, against his shoulder. He had kissed her forehead, and then ... what? She guessed she must have fallen asleep, as that had been over five hours ago.

There was a heavy brown woollen blanket lying over them both, and Scully raised a hand from where it had buried itself under Mulder's t-shirt and pushed it back it from her face. She craned her head up from the soft pillow, eyes looking over the top of Mulder's sleeping form and searching for John and Monica. First she looked to the other sofa, but it was empty, and the armchairs were empty too. Then her eyes found the fireplace again, and she saw Monica curled up on the floor in front of it under another brown blanket, her head buried in a white pillow and looking comfortable and at peace. Next to her though was another pillow, a discarded blanket, and no John. She sat up slowly, trying to avoid waking Mulder or losing her balance in the limited space she had to work with. Her first thought was that he was upstairs using the bathroom, but when she glanced towards the stairs she could see no lights on on the second floor. There was also no voices to be heard, which told her he wasn't simply talking with Christi somewhere. Worried, she pushed the blanket from her legs and, with difficulty and some clumsiness, climbed over Mulder and stood up. She covered him with the blanket again, and then went in search of John.

She didn't have to go far. When she walked around the corner she saw that the sliding doors leading to the kitchen were closed, but a light was shining out from under them. She raised her hands, gave one quiet knock, and then slid the doors apart to let herself in.

John looked up from where he was seated at the table. He didn't seem surprised by her presence. She turned and closed the doors behind her, not wanting to wake Mulder or Monica, and then walked to the table. She saw that under his hands in front of him was a newspaper. The header at the top of the page indicated it had a 10 page special coverage of the 'FBI mountain tragedy', but the page itself had photos of the dead, each with their name under their photo, and a description of the position they had held within the FBI. Scully stopped when she saw the page and took a moment to gather her strength before she could move on and pull out a chair next to John.

"I'm glad you got some sleep," he said kindly.

"So am I," she admitted. She had felt so exhausted and weak earlier in the day, but now it had passed and she felt some of her strength had been restored. "Though I actually don't remember falling asleep."

"Well you did," he said, giving her a small, amused smile. "Shortly before your mom and Charlie came back from the kitchen."

Scully put an elbow on the table and rested her head against her hand. "I should've said goodbye to my mom."

"She kissed you in your sleep," he said. "I wouldn't worry. She seemed relieved, to tell the truth."

"Have you had any sleep?" Scully asked, wondering how long he had been sitting up alone.

"We all collapsed not long after you," he said. "Monica was out the second her head hit the pillow."

"That doesn't surprise me, given how sick she was last night."

"Well let's hope she's better now," John said.

Scully nodded in agreement. She was worried about Monica, especially about how thin she was and her lack of appetite, but seeing her sleeping so contentedly in front of the fire helped to ease her concerns. Right now, however, she was more concerned about John. She looked down at the photos on the page. As before, it stabbed her hard in the chest to see their faces, but she took a deep, slow breath and tried to hold it back.

"What about you?" Scully asked gently. "Are you all right, John?"

He looked up from the newspaper. His blue eyes were unsettled, and she knew something was troubling him, though she wasn't sure what it was.

"Couldn't you sleep?" she questioned.

He looked away, back down at the newspaper. It was a second before he answered.

"I just got thinkin'."

"About what?"

"Follmer," he said. He looked back up at her. "How much we despised him."

Scully exhaled slowly. She knew it was the truth. She had hated Follmer from the time she had first met him, and she couldn't deny it now in front of John, who had felt the same way. But that didn't stop it from making her very uncomfortable. They had hated him, and he had ended up dead. And despite how she had felt beforehand, seeing another human being shoot themselves still hit her hard. The hatred she had felt for him was now a distant memory.

"They say we're heroes," John said, shaking his head at the newspaper. "I guess I can't help thinkin' that if we had been heroes, it never would've happened."

"Are you feeling guilty?"

"More ashamed," he said. "If we had had any of this so-called human spirit we would have been able to overcome our differences, unite in a common cause. You know, put our faults aside, lend a hand."

Scully nodded. She reached out and took his hand in her own. "I think it's natural to feel that way. I think whenever something like this happens, when someone harms themselves, or goes so far as to kill themselves, the people left behind are faced with these thoughts. You wonder if you could have done something to prevent it. You wonder if you'd even taken the smallest step out of your normal routine, even just smiling at them, taking the time to talk to them, or simply squeezing their hand, if it might have brightened their day enough to hold those feelings at bay. And I suppose that what makes it so tough is the fact that in many cases it _might _have made a difference. It's a sad reminder that we're all just human, and often so concerned with our thoughts and emotions that we push aside those of others."

"Do you wish you could have done something?" John asked sadly.

"Yes," Scully said, without hesitation. "I wish I'd spared him a kind word. I don't know what I would have said, if there's anything I could have said to make a difference given the likelihood that he felt just as frustrated by us as we perhaps were by him. But I do. And I will go to the funeral tomorrow out of respect for a man whose life should not have ended that way."

"We should've done something," John said, and Scully saw, with great surprise, that he had tears in his eyes. "We shouldn't have left it to Monica."

Scully squeezed his hand. "Well I think the least we can do is to not leave it all to her now."

John's tear-filled eyes met hers.

"She's going to need you, John. And you're no help to her if you fall asleep in the pew."

John nodded. "Neither are you."

Scully smiled and squeezed his hand again before pushing her chair back and standing up. "Come on. Stay here any longer and they'll wake up."

John let go of her hand and slid the doors open a little. He waved Scully through, into the dark room the other side, and then turned the kitchen light off and followed her. Scully's eyes needed time to adjust again to the dark shadows and hidden objects, but she eventually found her way to the couch where Mulder was. As she wondered how to climb back into her previous position without waking him, she felt John's hand on her shoulder and turned around in the dark.

"You might as well get changed," he whispered, indicating the fact that she was still dressed in her jeans, white top and coat. "The night's far from over."

And to Scully, that was a daunting thought. It was only just past eleven, and she had many hours to fill in with a sleep she wasn't sure would come.

**_Chapter Twenty-Seven - Monica Falls Ill_**

The nightmare was always the same. She saw flashes of her memories, and they played themselves over and over like someone had pushed the repeat button in her mind. The more she thought over Brad's suicide, the more there were signs she hadn't seen. She remembered chasing him into the second half of the plane, where he was packing his things, and he had said, "It's certain death, Monica." At the time she had taken it to mean that he thought their staying their hoping for rescue was certain death, but perhaps that hadn't been it at all. Then the nightmare progressed to her standing in the entrance to the plane, watching him sitting in the snow beside the dead bodies. He had sat there for so long, and she had thought he had been working through his feelings. In the dream her body was as heavy as steel, and she tried to walk forth into the snow, toward him, but her limbs wouldn't move. Then Dana had come up to her, and she'd been momentarily distracted, and then that sound she would never forget; the crack of the gunshot. And then she was running, her steel limbs light again, and they found his body in the snow, bleeding heavily, his face unrecognisable. She collapsed beside him into the snow, there was silence, the blood seeped ... and she woke with her stomach in a thousand knots.

She lay with her back on the carpet, the blanket that had been covering her down to her waist. The room was dark and relatively cool, but her whole body felt sweaty like she was sitting in a volcano. She could feel the sweat on her face and chest, and her stomach heaved with nausea. She closed her eyes again and took a slow, deep breath, hoping to stifle it, but the effect was only momentary and when she opened her eyes it was still there, inching up her throat. She sat up, kicked the blanket from her legs, and pushed herself to her feet. In the dark she made her way to the stairs, leaving John, Dana and Mulder all sleeping peacefully, and with a hand on the rail, began to climb. She felt weak climbing the stairs, her limbs still heavy from sleep and the nightmare, her sweaty body only wanting to collapse. She steadied herself with the rail until she got to the second floor, where she walked toward the bathroom with one hand sliding against the wall. She opened the bathroom door as quietly as she could, knowing Christi was sleeping in a room nearby, and she reached out a hand and flicked the lightswitch on. She squinted in the sudden harsh light, but pushed the door most of the way shut behind her and stumbled her way to the toilet. Collapsing on her knees in front of it, she threw up the lid and the seat and vomited straightaway.

As the first wave passed she sat back on her legs, holding the bowl with one hand and her stomach with the other. She felt weaker than ever, and she lowered her head onto her arm that was holding the bowl, closing her eyes against the sleeve of her satin pyjamas and panting with exhaustion even as another wave of nausea began to swirl inside her. She groaned as it intensified, and her skin felt hot again, her temperature soaring.

As she struggled to catch her breath someone knocked at the partially open door. Monica ignored them, keeping her eyes closed.

"Jesus, Monica," came Christi's worried voice. She heard Christi's bare feet jog quickly across the room toward her. "Are you all right?"

Monica forced her head up and her eyes open, and saw Christi kneeling beside her, dressed in pink flannel pyjamas with butterflies on them, and her wavy blonde, shoulder-length hair ruffled from sleep. But Monica's head spun, her stomach clenched, and she pushed herself further up on her knees and vomited again into the bowl.

Christi swore and clamped an arm hard around Monica's waist. Monica's vision began to blur, and she began to gasp for breath again, her consciousness beginning to slide. She fell back into Christi's strong arm and closed her eyes.

Christi's free hand pressed itself against Monica's forehead.

"My God, Monica, you're burning," she said.

Monica didn't have the strength to answer, but Christi's hand felt soft and cool on her skin and she found it comforting.

They stayed that way for a minute, Monica being gently held by Christi, and very slowly, the nausea in Monica's stomach began to ease and the oxygen came freely to her lungs. She sat upright, opened her eyes again and sighed with both embarrassment and frustration.

"You feel a little better now?" Christi asked.

Monica nodded, trying to pull herself together. The feeling of sickness was gone, but she still felt hot and weak.

"Maybe you should come lie down a minute," Christi said, squeezing her waist.

"No," Monica said. She took a deep breath. "I think I'm okay."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," Monica said, and to prove it she shakily got her feet. Christi rose with her, still supporting her around the waist, but her free hand reached out to flush the toilet. There was the sound of rushing water and then Christi turned her, leading her toward the bathroom doorway.

"I think I just need a drink," Monica said. "I've got a horrible taste in my mouth."

"Okay then," Christi said kindly. She helped Monica out into the hallway, turning the light off as they went, and led her to the top of the stairs. Monica was grateful for Christi's steadying arm, as her head was still spinning and her legs were trembling. She was also grateful for Christi's calm and kind manner, which was a lot better than her parents' frantic worry and plans for a trip to the ER that she had endured the previous night.

"Take the railing," Christi said, holding her firmly from the left, and indicating the stair railing on Monica's right. "You look like you're going to faint."

Monica did as she was told, and Christi slowly began to lead her down the stairs. After the first few, she glanced out over the living room into the darkness below and could make out John still asleep on the floor, and Dana and Mulder curled up together on the sofa. Just as she was feeling relieved that they weren't awake to see her like this, she saw Mulder's eyes were open, and when they made contact with her and Christi, he gently disentangled himself from Scully, stood up, and hurried over, jogging up the stairs to meet them.

"Are you all right?" he asked, putting himself between her and the railing, and sliding a strong arm around her waist to help Christi help her down the stairs.

"She's just been sick," Christi said, her voice now soft, conscious of John and Dana sleeping below.

"We need to get you a drink," he said, but his voice was soothing instead of panicked, and Monica felt suddenly grateful for his presence. They were halfway down the stairs when Monica looked out again toward John and Dana. John was still dead to the world, but Scully was beginning to stir, and as Monica saw her red hair begin to move, she saw the same red hair she had seen in her dream: Scully approaching her in preparation for the coming blizzard, distracting her from keeping an eye on Follmer. She saw herself turning to talk to Scully and the others, and when she turned back, Brad had gone. And then the rest of the nightmare followed, as vivid as it had been before, as vivid as it had been the time it had actually happened. She felt herself stumbling through the snow, screaming his name, and then falling ... falling for ages before her knees hit the ground. Then there was John's arms, but she hadn't felt them because Brad was there in front of her, bleeding, dead with a bullet in his skull.

Her stomach turned, and with it, her knees gave way.

"_Woah_," Christi said. Christi's grip tightened ten-fold, as did Mulder's, and they both pulled her back to her feet before she'd hit the stairs. The world spun, Monica's vision was blurry, and for some reason, teary. She couldn't see, and the interior of John's house became one dark blur. She blinked, trying to clear it, and felt hot tears slip over her already sweaty cheeks, but the room remained dark, her stomach tightened further, and her skin prickled with heat.

"Oh God," she gasped, as felt herself slipping away. She knew she was dead weight in their arms, but she felt too weak to help them. "Help me."

"We've got you," Christi said, holding her with both arms in an iron grip on her torso.

"Stay with us," Mulder added.

Monica blinked again as they took the remaining stairs, but the world became no clearer. Her heart pounded in her chest, the nausea returned even more powerful than it had been before.

And then Scully's voice appeared from somewhere, rushed and scared. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Christi said. "I found her vomiting in the bathroom upstairs."

"Come lay her down," Scully said, and Monica felt herself being walked forward again. She heard the sound of a light switch clicking on, and then Scully's voice again.

"John, we need a damp cloth," Scully ordered, her panic gone. "And a bucket if you have one."

"Right," he said, and his voice then disappeared.

Monica felt Christi and Mulder lowering her onto a sofa, and she gratefully collapsed onto it, lying on her back and closing her eyes. The sofa sank and someone sat on the edge next to her, and when a hand touched her forehead she knew it was Scully, because Scully had a unique touch that was gentle and confident at the same time.

"She's got a fever," Scully said.

Monica felt something in the couch move again. Someone had sat on the armrest behind her head.

Scully's hand shifted from her forehead and down to her cheek, pushing her hair back that she knew had stuck to her sweaty skin.

"Monica open your eyes."

Scully's voice was calming, and Monica obeyed it without thinking, as she had done when Scully had uttered that phrase once before, during her hypothermia on the mountain.

The world was clearer now she was lying horizontal, and she saw Scully leaning over her, dressed now in dark blue satin pyjamas and her blue eyes looking down at her, studying her condition. She saw the person who was sitting behind her head was Christi, and as their eyes made contact Christi put a hand gently on her head. Mulder, meanwhile, was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, looking concerned, and across the room she saw John coming back with the items Scully had requested.

"Here," he said, and passed the damp cloth to Scully and put the black plastic bucket beside the couch, level with Monica's head.

Scully folded the cloth over a few times so it was in a long strip and then spread it on her forehead. Monica immediately felt relief at the coollness of it and closed her eyes again, feeling the heat in her skin begin to abate and the knot in her stomach uncurl itself.

"Keep your eyes open," Scully ordered softly. "Stay conscious if you can."

"I'm okay," Monica said, as Scully undid the top few buttons of her pyjama top, and then pushed up Monica's sleeves to past her elbows, exposing her forearms.

"So we see," John said, sitting next to Mulder on the coffee table, level with the bucket and Monica's head.

Monica looked away from John's eyes, but instead caught Christi's, which were no less concerned than her brother's.

"You're anything but okay, Monica," Christi said, her soft hand stroking Monica's hair, just above where the cool cloth was sitting.

Monica looked away from Christi too, but there were so many eyes upon her, she felt she couldn't get away.

"Is this what happened last night?" Scully asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Yeah," Monica said.

"Then it's no wonder you arrived dehydrated," Scully said. "I thought your mom was exaggerating when she said you were vomiting all night, but she wasn't, was she?"

Monica didn't know how to answer that, but the look on Scully's face was more of someone watching pieces of a puzzle fall into place, rather than someone seeking an answer as to how it all went together. The actual truth was unclear in Monica's mind. Yes, she had vomited a fair few times the previous night, and done some empty retching once her stomach was empty. But it had come and gone, and she had eventually got back to sleep.

"What brings it on?" Scully asked. "You seemed fine last time I checked."

Monica sighed. She felt tears in her eyes again, though she didn't know if they'd ever really left.

"I just see things," she said softly. "Memories."

"Brad Follmer?" Mulder asked, voice low and gentle.

Monica looked away, uncomfortable with his probing eyes. But yes, she thought, it was Brad. It was the sight of his dead body, her guilt at failing to prevent it, her wish she could go back and do it all again. But it was also other things. It was not this single memory that had her in a strong hold. She also saw Holly lying frozen, she still felt Kim wriggling hysterically in her own arms. She saw an avalanche, with four of her friends buried deep in the snow, and she saw Skinner and Kim dead after having several miraculous escapes, and being defeated by mother nature when they should have survived.

Her stomach knotted itself again, and she felt vomit surging up her throat. In an instant she rolled over, leaning over the side of the sofa, and vomited again into the bucket. The cloth from her head fell to the carpet.

"Jesus," John said. He leapt to the floor and grabbed her dangling shoulders with his strong hands, preventing her from falling headfirst into her own vomit. Now she was there, Monica felt too weak to pull herself back onto the sofa again. She felt both Christi and Scully holding her from behind, and another surge of nausea took her, and she retched and coughed into the bucket. After a minute of coughing, the nausea passed, and her friends pulled her back onto the sofa, lying on her back again.

Christi reached to the floor for the cloth.

"Hold still," she said.

Monica was too weak to move, and found it easy to obey as Christi took the cloth and used it to wipe the ends of her hair, which had apparently been caught in the line of fire. Christi wiped the strands and then folded the cloth over and walked out of the room to clean it.

Monica met Scully's understanding eyes, and a wave of frustration and anger at what had happened to them overtook her.

"God Dana, what did we do to deserve this?" she said, shaking her head. "What the _frickin' _hell did we do?"

"I don't know," Scully said, tears in her eyes. "I wish I did know."

"There is no reason," Mulder said. "Not outside of being in the worst place at the worst time."

Then John moved forward, shifting the bucket aside, and knelt beside the sofa. He reached up and put one hand on her forehead and the other on her arm, rubbing softly.

"You can tell us," he said. "Whatever you're remembering, you can share it. You know we were there too. We saw it all just as you did."

Monica looked sideways into his worried eyes, and feeling an overwhelming love for him, she struggled to sit up, and then leaned out, falling into his bare arms. She buried her head in his t-shirt clad shoulder and let the tears overtake her. She felt him press kisses to her hair, and he rocked her from side to side, rubbing her back.

"You're not alone, Monica," he whispered, holding her as she cried. "And you never will be."

* * *

_Bored yet? Feedback makes a huge difference._


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter Twenty-Eight - Fever**_

Monica continued to cry into John's shoulder, her face pressed into a frame that had once been muscley and firm, but was now skeletal and weak. The fact only made her cry more, for the toll those two weeks had taken on her friend, and Mulder and Dana as well, who for all their comments on her own thin figure, didn't seem to realise how bad they looked themselves. John held her with an arm around her upper back to support her awkward position, and the other was rubbing her lower back through her pyjamas, the material moving with his hand. Then the hand stopped suddenly, and she felt John stiffen in her arms.

"What is it?" Monica asked, pulling away from him a little.

"Stay there a sec'," he said, holding her close to him with the arm around her upper back.

"What?" she persisted.

A second later she felt his other hand return to her lower back, pulling up the hem of her pyjama top, peeling it away from where it had stuck to the sweat on her skin and holding it up to the level of her bra strap. Another hand took it from there, and she knew it must be Scully again. Then John's rough hand returned directly to her skin, where he tentatively placed his full palm over her wet spine. He pressed it there for a second before pulling it away again.

"Christ, Monica," he said, "you're sweatin' pools back here."

It wasn't news to Monica. She felt it, her head still giddy and her skin on fire, and Scully had already pronounced she had a fever.

"Yeah, I feel a little warm," she admitted, feeling a droplet of sweat slip down her forehead as she spoke.

"A little warm?" he said, pulling back to look into her eyes. He put his hands on her shoulders. "You're burnin' up!"

Monica didn't reply, but John didn't seem to require one. He took one hand from her shoulders to feel her forehead, and then he shook his head, as though confirming his worst suspicions.

"Lie back down," he said, gently pushing her shoulders back. Monica let herself fall back onto the sofa and found herself staring up at the ceiling again. Scully left her side and Monica watched as she went to her medical bag, which was sitting in the corner of the room with her overnight bag, and she foraged around inside until she emerged with a thermometer in her hand. She came back to the sofa and resumed her position at Monica's side.

"Open up," Scully said, holding the thermometer near Monica's mouth. "I'd like to take your temperature."

"I'm all right," Monica said. Her skin burned, yes, and she felt the sweat dripping, but she knew that like last night, it would go away if she relaxed a while.

"You don't quit lying, I'll take it rectally," Scully said.

"Now there's a threat," Mulder said.

Before Monica could think of a response, Christi returned with the wet cloth in her hands. She took the ends and flipped it over so it was in a strip again and then put it on her forehead. The cold water dripped on her skin and Monica felt relief.

"Maybe we should take her to hospital," Christi said worriedly, her bright blue eyes peering down at Monica from behind her head.

"_No_," Monica said, and she dizzily propped herself up on her elbows, ready to fight them every step of the way. She hated hospitals. There was no way in hell she was going back to one if she could avoid it. After her car accident in which her doctor had tried to murder her, and after the marathon court case that had followed, she was terrified of the places. She knew her three friends knew this. They had had to use all their powers of persuasion to get her into one in Vancouver, and in the end Monica had agreed because her need to be with the other three was even bigger than her fear, and plus Scully had promised her that she would stay with her and watch everything they did. But now, there was simply no way.

"Monica, relax!" John said. He sat up higher from his position where he'd been kneeling on the carpet and gently took her shoulder, urging her to lie back down. "We're not taking you to hospital."

Monica looked up at Mulder and Scully.

"There's no need," Mulder said, meeting Monica's eyes and then glancing past her to Christi. "Scully can handle it."

Monica met Scully's blue eyes, and Scully reached forward and tenderly stroked her hot cheek, pushing her hair back again.

"Do you trust me?" Scully asked softly.

"Of course," Monica replied, not even needing to think.

"And you'll stop lying?" John said beside her, his hand still on her shoulder.

Monica turned her head to look at him and saw he was smiling, obviously thinking of Scully's earlier statement. She gave him a look and turned back to look at Scully, who was smiling herself, but trying to fight it.

Scully raised the thermometer to Monica's mouth and gently tapped it on Monica's lower lip.

"Then open up," Scully said, serious again.

Monica took the thermometer under her tongue.

"And for the record," Scully said, leaning in again, "I warn you that when you're feeling better I'm planning to ask exactly how sneaking off upstairs, hoping we don't notice, comes under our policy of being honest and open with each other."

Monica thought it typical of Scully to pass that comment while she knew she couldn't reply. But in her own mind she wondered exactly what she was supposed to have done. Scully hadn't slept well for a long while, and when Monica saw her finally getting some rest there was no way she was going to wake her up for some nausea Scully couldn't help her with anyway. But, she thought fairly, it was true enough that Monica had felt feverish and sick for quite a while before she had dashed upstairs, and if the roles were reversed and it had been Scully who had been sick while she herself slept through it...

"And when Dana's done I'm going to ask why the hell you didn't call us last night," Doggett added, giving her a look of frustration she was used to seeing when he was trying to tolerate one of her theories.

Monica tilted her head, feeling exasperated. She had not called them because she already had her mother and father fluttering around in panic and couldn't have tolerated having John, Dana, Mulder, and the Scully and Doggett clans in her living room all doing the same thing. Plus the obvious fact that she hadn't wanted to wake them when they were most likely asleep. When she had seen Scully on the verge of physical collapse in Tara's arms, being walked to the car like a child, she hadn't expected her to spend the night awake by the phone in case Monica called.

"I think," Mulder said, spotting the look on her face, "you need to understand that it doesn't feel very flattering to know that after all we've been through, all the times we witnessed each other's pain, saved each other's lives, that you can still feel embarrassed enough to hide. I guess we were hoping we'd moved beyond that."

"You shouldn't feel ashamed," Christi said, who had taken a seat on the sofa opposite them.

Out of the corner of her eye, Monica saw Scully nod in agreement, and Monica looked back toward her.

"You have every right to be sick," Scully said. "But we like to think we have every right to help you through it."

Monica felt her resistance weakening.

"I think this is done," Scully said, reaching forward to take the thermometer from her mouth.

"Is the lecture over?" Monica said.

"Who said it was a lecture?" Mulder said.

"Yeah, well once you've all finished saying that _I'm _going to ask why I should have woken a friend who hadn't closed her eyes for a week just so she could watch me spew," Monica said irritably. It was one thing to be criticised, it was another to be denied the opportunity to defend herself by having a thermometer jammed in her mouth at the time.

"Because that friend is also your doctor," Scully said idly, squinting at the themometer without her glasses, "and she'd be able to inform you that you have a fever of 103."

Scully turned the thermometer around so Monica could see the red line, and Monica fell silent, staring at it. She had felt hot, but _that _hot?

"You serious?" John asked, looking up at Scully in alarm.

Scully passed it to him. John's eyes widened, as did Mulder's and Christi's, who both read it as he held it in his hand.

"What's that mean?" Monica asked, watching as Scully's eyes went from calm to worried.

"It means that unless we can get your temperature down you might get that trip to hospital after all," Scully said gravely.

Monica's heart began to beat quicker. It scared her to see Scully scared. It was never a good sign.

"All right," Scully said, taking a deep breath and squeezing Monica's hand. "You're going to need to take off those pyjamas. Do you have something cooler you can wear? An old t-shirt?"

"I don't think so," Monica said. "I didn't exactly pack for a summer vacation."

"You can borrow one of mine," John said, getting to his feet.

"Make it white," Scully told him, as he headed for the stairs. Then she turned her attention to John's sister. "Christi, would you be able to check if there's anything we can use for ice packs?"

Christi was on her feet before Scully had even finished the sentence.

"Mulder, if you could shut the fire off and get her a glass of water, that'd be great."

"Right on it," he said, moving toward the heater, which was still glowing red.

"All right, Monica," Scully said, removing the cool cloth from Monica's forehead. "Think you can stand up a moment?"

"Yeah," Monica said. "I think so."

She took a deep breath and let Scully help her into a sitting position. Then Scully stood up and Monica swung her shaky legs and bare feet to the softness of the carpet. She rested there for a second, getting her bearings, and then Scully gently tugged on her upper arm, and Monica carefully stood up.

Almost immediately she grabbed Scully's shoulder, feeling her mind spinning. On her feet she really felt the fever. Her knees felt weak and unsteady and her head dizzy.

"It's okay," Scully said, steadying her with a hand on her elbow. "Just stay right there, I'll help you with these."

Monica felt a rush of embarrassment as Scully reached for Monica's pyjama top, unbuttoning it from top to bottom. It wasn't that she didn't trust Scully, because there wasn't anything she didn't trust Scully with, but because there somehow seemed a huge gap between being stripped of her clothes in an isolated crashed plane, a hundred miles from anyone else, and being stripped of them in John's living room a week later. Of course, the fact that she had been barely conscious the first time also made a difference.

"Don't look so embarrassed," Scully said. She spread the sides of Monica's top and Monica put her arms back, letting her slip it from her shoulders. Scully took it and threw it on the coffee table.

"I just never thought I'd be in this position again," Monica admitted, trying to will herself to stay standing long enough for Scully to finish the job. She put her arms self-consciously over her black bra, covering her cleavage.

"Neither did I, to tell the truth. But you can take any twinge of self-consciousness to be a good sign. I've always found that embarrassment is relative to how sick a person is. If they're well they blush, but if they're feeling bad enough then modesty goes out the window." She paused as she took the rim of Monica's pyjama pants and tugged them down. "Like you were during that blizzard."

"I never thanked you for that," Monica said, as the memory came back. "You saved my life."

Monica lifted her each of her feet in turn, letting Scully pull her pyjama pants off. Scully then stood up and threw them on top of Monica's discarded pyjama top.

"You don't need to thank me," Scully said. "Considering how many times you saved my life I think we're more than even."

Their eyes met for a second and Scully smiled and squeezed Monica's bare arm. Monica wanted to smile, but instead felt herself sway and reached out for Scully's shoulder.

"Whoa," Scully said, catching her. "You'd better sit down."

Monica began to pant with the surges of heat powering through her veins and the dizziness clouding her mind. Her vision flickered as Scully took control and moved her into a sitting position again on the edge of the couch. Monica immediately leaned over, head on her hard, boney knees, closing her eyes. She felt Scully's soft hand on her sweaty back, halfway between her black bra and matching underwear.

"Take a deep breath," she heard Scully say.

Monica tried but it seemed the breath she took was composed of air just as hot as the temperature in her body, and it did nothing to cool her off. She grasped onto her shins with her sweaty hands, struggling to steady herself.

"Come on, deep breath," Scully said firmly. "Think of something pleasant."

All Monica could think of was the sickness in her stomach and focused on her mind on trying to hold it down. She gasped for breath between her knees, her shoulders heaving and Scully's hand rubbing gently.

"You remember the stars?" Scully asked. "Remember that night we stargazed? I needed to pee, you followed me out, and afterward we stood there in the stillness, just the two of us. Then the clouds cleared a little, and the night sky twinkled down on us in every direction as far as we could see. Do you remember what you said?"

"I said it was amazing," Monica said softly, talking into her knees.

"Yeah," Scully said. "I remember we stood there for a long time, and it was so cold we held on to each other. But we just stared and stared, and I remember thinking that as long as I lived, I would never forget that moment."

Even with her skyrocketing temperature and feeling of nausea, Monica managed a small smile. She was finally able to take a deep breath and the nausea eased slightly.

"Whenever you feel sick, I want you to think of that," Scully said. "Just close your eyes and remember how we felt."

Monica took another deep breath. Scully continued to rub her back patiently, sitting beside her on the sofa, and Monica listened to the others moving around the house. She heard Christi and Mulder moving around the kitchen, someone closing the fridge door and the other pouring water. She also heard John close a door upstairs and listened as his feet thudded their way down the stairs back toward them. She heard him cross the carpet and then arrive next to them. He was out of breath, and to Monica it was another sign of how weak and out of condition they had become.

"This do?" he asked, talking to Scully.

"Yeah, that's good," Scully replied.

Monica opened her eyes and raised her head a little to see him holding out a fresh white t-shirt. Suddenly conscious of her near-nakedness, Monica reached out a shaky arm for it, and he gave it to her with a worried look that told her she must still look like hell.

"Can you manage?" he asked, sitting himself down on the coffee table again.

"Yeah," she said, raising her heavy arms to pull it over her head and immediately feeling herself sway again as she did. She pulled it into position on her body, and was glad that the fit was good. It covered her well, down to the tops of her thighs, but was baggy enough that it was pleasantly airy and didn't glue itself to her like the satin pyjamas had. Scully removed her hand from Monica's bare back and put it in the same position on the t-shirt instead.

Mulder then strolled back into the living room with a glass of water, and he passed it down to Scully.

"I want you to try drinking some of this," Scully said, holding it up to Monica's lips. "Just a few sips."

Monica knew Scully was worried about the amount of fluids she had lost. Between her vomiting and sweating, there couldn't be a whole lot left in her body.

Monica took a mouthful from the glass as Scully held it, and Scully lowered it again while Monica forced herself to swallow it.

"All right?" Scully asked.

"Yeah," Monica lied, swallowing down some nausea.

But Scully wasn't easily fooled, and Monica saw her eyes narrow. She passed the glass back to Mulder and stood up. She went to the floor in front of the heater and took the fluffy white pillow Monica had been using earlier in the night and walked back to the couch with it. She put it down at the head of the couch and then put her hand back on Monica's shoulder.

"Lie down," she said.

Monica happily did as she asked, stretching her legs out and sinking her head into the softness of the pillow. Scully sat on the very edge of the couch again, and Monica heard her move the plastic bucket back level with Monica's head. Then on cue, Christi came back into the room with several ice packs she had scrounged, all wrapped in red chequered towels.

"Thank you," Scully said, taking them all from her and turning back to Monica.

Monica still felt the heat burning her skin and the ice looked suddenly inviting. As Scully laid the first one down on Monica's neck, Monica sighed with relief and closed her eyes. Scully gently lifted her arms in order to place the next two in her armpits, and again Monica felt the cold strike hard, and wished the ice packs were about ten times larger, she was so overheated. But when Scully lifted her t-shirt and placed the last one over Monica's groin, Monica opened her eyes.

"It's okay," Scully said, pulling the t-shirt back over the top. "Placing ice packs over areas of major blood vessels helps to accelerate cooling."

Monica remembered Scully's earlier words about embarrassment being relative to a person's level of sickness, but even though her temperature was soaring, she still felt a twinge and glanced across to the other three people in the room. She was surprised to see that none of them were smiling, or teasing as she thought John perhaps would. In fact all three of them looked too worried to pass comment. John was still sitting on the coffee table, watching her intently, his eyes moist. Mulder was standing nearby, restlessly shifting his feet, his arms folded across his chest. Christi, sensitive to Monica's embarrassment, reached for Monica's sweaty pyjamas.

"I'll go put these in the laundry," she said, draping them over her arm.

Monica thanked her and there was silence as Christi walked out of the room. Monica felt Scully take her hand, and she rubbed her thumb over Monica's. Monica met Scully's blue eyes, which were no longer worried but looking like a doctor in control again, and felt a surge of gratitude toward the redhead. She turned her head to the side, looking at John and Mulder, who were both looking nervous and scared, and her heart went warm and fuzzy at how much they cared for her. In that moment, she saw suddenly what Jack and Christi had meant when they were talking about why the world was fascinated. Monica had definitely felt the bond she had with these three people, but lying there on the couch, sweating profusely in John's living room with John, Mulder and Dana all crowded around, brought it home to her. She saw suddenly how very far the four of them had come. Only a month ago their relationship had been much different. Mulder and Scully perhaps had still been very close, but Monica's friendship with them had, most days, been more of colleagues than loving friends. It was true she had been good friends with John for many years, but they had still had their share of ups and downs, especially due to the nature of the X-Files. Now, however ... now it was a whole different situation.

"What are you thinkin'?" John asked.

"I'm thinking the four of us have come a long way," Monica said. "I mean, who would have thought we'd all be here a month ago?"

"Well if there's one thing I've learned it's that life has a way of taking unexpected turns," Scully said, squeezing her hand.

"And yet we would never have met without some of them," John said, looking up at Scully.

She smiled slightly, but it was laced with pain as well, and after a second she looked away.

"Maybe it is incredible," Mulder said, coming to sit down on the coffee table beside John. "Between us we've experienced so many unpleasant turns, had pains inflicted upon us, lost people we've loved. Your son," he said, looking to John with sad eyes. "Melissa," he said, looking to Scully. "Samantha, too. And now this."

Christi came silently back into the room. The conversation paused for a second as she sat down opposite Monica, on the couch Mulder and Scully had slept on and which still held their pillow and the blanket that had been thrown aside in a hurry.

"I don't understand why we have to lose people at all," Monica said, looking away from the pain in her friends' faces. "It seems so cruel that a person can become so attached to someone, love them with all their heart, only to have them snatched away. We should be able to love people for a lifetime."

"Well maybe that's where faith helps," Scully said softly. "A person can take comfort from believing there's a heaven where they'll meet everyone they've ever loved and be able to spend eternity together."

"Do you believe that?" John asked.

Scully fingered the gold cross hanging from her neck. "I think it can help. I like to think I'll meet my father again. And Melissa, too. Everyone we've had to part with."

"But will we?" Monica questioned, doubt springing into her feverish mind. "Even if there is a heaven, suicide remains a sin. Maybe we won't see everyone. Brad and Holly..."

She broke off and swallowed hard, the nausea stirring in her stomach again. Remembering Scully's advice, she closed her eyes for a moment and thought of the night they had stargazed; of the freezing air, of the billions of stars, of the moon reflecting brightly. The nausea passed and she opened her eyes again. She saw Scully was watching her closely.

"They say God is forgiving and merciful," Mulder said.

Monica considered the thought. "Do you think he'll forgive _us_?"

It was a tense moment. Scully looked away and sighed painfully. Mulder's sad eyes met her own, but he had no answer to give. Christi was sitting silently, not daring to speak. But John looked around at them all and then back at Monica.

"Personally," he said, "I don't give a damn. I don't mean to disrespect your right to believe, Dana, but if there is a God I'm gonna give the bastard a good punch in the head, demand some damn answers. Any God that can do that to innocent people, our good, kind, hard-working friends, doesn't deserve no respect. I can't understand how any powerful being could sit back and twiddle their thumbs and let half the things that happened in history just play themselves out. I don't know what reason you could possibly give for something like this. All I know is that considering the mess we were in, I think we did damn well. I think we're still _doing _damn well."

"Amen," Mulder said.

Scully lowered her eyes, and Monica knew that she was shaken by his words, and perhaps a little offended. Monica squeezed her hand tight and she looked up again, giving Monica grateful smile.

"What is it you think you'd need to ask forgiveness for?" Christi asked softly.

"For not seeing it coming," Monica said.

Christi's blue eyes looked across her. "Do you think you could have?"

"I think I should have."

"We _all_ should have," John said, backing her up.

Monica felt warmed by his support, and if she hadn't already been holding Scully's hand, she would have reached out for John's. Instead, he reached across and put his hand on her forehead, stroking back her hair. Monica locked her eyes onto his scared blue ones, still moist with worry over her fever and vomiting. She prayed that he wouldn't pull away, but leave his hand there, and he did, stroking her hair over and over, very gently.

"You feel cooler now," he said. "Ice must be workin'."

"It's nice and cold," Monica slurred, revelling in the freezing packs pressing against her body. "Though I think I need a shower."

"You're welcome to it," John said.

"Not just yet," Scully said. "I'd rather you wait until your temperature's steady."

Monica understood. She knew it would just top her night off to have to be pulled from the shower, unconscious and naked. It was bad enough that her friends had to nurse her even this much.

"But speaking of water," Scully said, and she held her hand out to Mulder for the glass that was still half full. "I'd like you to finish this if you think you can stomach it."

She handed the glass to John and he held it to Monica's lips. Monica inclined her head a little – having a little trouble with the ice pack still sitting on her neck – and he tilted the glass to help her drink. His free hand supported the back of her head, resting in her hair as she drank. She paused for breath after a few mouthfuls, but returned her lips to the glass and drained it completely. Then she let her head collapse back against the pillow, his hand still beneath it in her hair.

"I'll go fill this up again," Scully said, taking the glass from Doggett and letting go of Monica's hand.

"Monica, are you sure you can handle this funeral today?" Christi asked worriedly.

Monica looked across at John's sister. "This'll pass. I'll be fine in a while."

"What worries me," Christi said, choosing her words carefully, "is that this is the second time this has happened to you and we have no guarantee that it won't happen again. I understand you need to go, and you know we'll all stand by you. I'd just hate for you to end up in a situation like Dana was yesterday."

Monica remembered well Dana lying on the concrete only hours ago, the media harassing her and her family leaning over her to try to protect her. She knew Scully's faint had made headline news that evening on television, and despite her own hopes that she herself would be fine – because Brad Follmer's funeral still felt hours and hours away – she did see the reason for Christi's concern.

"I just want to ask," Christi went on, "that if at any time it looks like it's going to come down to a choice between your health and the funeral, that you choose your health."

Monica's heart softened. She hadn't known Christi well before the plane crash. They had met during the ordeal of Luke's death, but Monica's main contact with the family had been John, and she had never had the opportunity to get to know Christi as a friend. The times she had supported John afterward had nearly always been in one-to-one meetings, and never with his family in tow.

"I'll look after myself," Monica assured her. "I don't plan on going through this a third time."

"I doubt you even planned on going through it a second," John said flatly. "Right?"

"John, please," Monica said, feeling annoyed. "If it's any consolation last night was the worst night of my life."

"Your parents are no good in a crisis, huh?" Mulder said softly.

"No, they are," Monica said. "They're just more experienced with the type of crises that can be hugged better."

"I think we're all a little out of our depth with this one," Christi said kindly. "But we'll make it."

Monica sighed. "I hope so." Then, seeing the depressed look on John's face, she added, "Because if I have to spend the rest of my life thawing peas in my armpits you can forget it."

John smiled.

**_Chapter Twenty-Nine – A Snowy Morning_**

It was nine o'clock and snowing. John stared out his kitchen window into the backyard, mesmerised by the white flakes drifting down and covering his lawn. It was not because he found the sight beautiful, as he did before the accident, but because it reminded him all too much of what had happened, and the snow jogged memories for him that he didn't want jogged.

He toyed with his cereal bowl that rested on the bench in front of him, turning it around a few degrees, dipping his silver spoon into the flakes but having little desire to eat. He finally picked up the bowl and turned around, leaning against the bench where he couldn't see the snow scene behind him. He tried to focus his attention on something else, and thought again over the events of the night – a thought just as uncomfortable for him as the memories the snow provoked. He was still very uneasy about attending Follmer's funeral, though he knew it was something he had to do, not only to support Monica but to do something for his own conscience, to somehow ease the guilt he shared with Mulder and Scully over not doing anything to prevent his death.

The memory painful, he cast it quickly aside and took another mouthful of cereal. But then his mind settled on something else painful: Monica. He didn't want to admit how much her sickness during the night had shaken him. It wasn't only because it was a blatant reminder of the terrible memories she was re-living, but because he was far from convinced that she was all right. This was now the third time she had done this – after her vomiting at the hospital and during her first night home – and he wondered how many more times her body could withstand it. He wondered how many more times his own _nerves_ could withstand it. Because while Scully's medical training had her at relative ease with the situation, John only saw her thin body, feverish skin, and her dark eyes filled with shame at having him witness it all. It was some comfort that he could tell Christi was worried too, but her questioning of Monica's ability to handle a funeral only made him more uneasy.

He took another mouthful, being careful not to spill any milk on his black suit, and crunched some flakes between his teeth. Maybe, he desperately tried to convince himself, maybe he was being stupid. After all, if Scully was confident with the situation, then he had no reason to worry. Like she had said to Monica's parents yesterday, such reactions were to be expected in the aftermath of a traumatic experience, and what they had been through certainly qualified as that. Plus, the night had ended relatively well, considering how sick Monica had been. The ice packs had been successful in lowering Monica's temperature, and Scully had managed to stabilise it. Then Monica, exhausted, began to drift off and Scully covered her to the waist with a blanket. Christi had then left to take care of the vomit-filled bucket, and John put his head in his hands. He'd been surprised when Mulder's arm had gone around his back, and had emerged from his hands to see a look of understanding on the other man's face that John couldn't quite fathom. But before he'd had a chance to think much about it, Scully had stood up, whispering that Monica would be okay now. And she had been. She had slept another four hours, Scully regularly feeling her forehead to check her temperature remained steady, and had emerged about half an hour ago. Hearing from Christi that their families were due around nine, she had headed immediately for the shower, jogging up his stairs bare-legged and with her overnight bag slung over her shoulder.

He tried to listen for her, but couldn't hear anything. The water was now off, and the only sounds he could hear were those of the other three. He heard Christi moving around upstairs, and Mulder and Scully talking quietly as they cleaned up his living room, folding blankets, stacking pillows, and stirring up the fire again.

He returned his attention to his cereal bowl, trying to spoon up the dregs in the bottom. As he chased them around, Scully and Mulder both wandered back into the kitchen. He raised his eyes as he took his last mouthful. Both of them were wearing black like him, and both were looking much better than they had yesterday. Scully especially looked well. There was no doubt that the sleep had done her good, and dressed now in a pants suit complete with black blouse and her soft red hair touching her shoulders, John had to admit she looked almost recognisable as her old self – that was until she spotted him standing there, looking into his empty cereal bowl.

"You okay?" she asked, her blue eyes narrowing with concern. Mulder went to the cupboard, grabbed himself a bowl, and poured some cereal into it from the box John had left on the table.

"Yeah," he said, and turned around, dumping his dishes into the sink with a clang.

But unfortunately, they now understood him too well, and he felt trapped, standing there against the sink with both Mulder and Scully's eyes upon him.

"You worried about Monica?" Mulder asked softly, pouring milk over his flakes.

John turned around to face them, and the whole night's events swept through his mind again. He sighed and looked to Scully, who was leaning against the table with her arms casually crossed to fend off the chilly air of his kitchen.

"You sure she's all right?" he asked.

"I'm not sure any of us are," Scully said.

"I think you could say that if we were all right, by the general definition of it, then we wouldn't be here in your kitchen right now," Mulder pointed out.

"You know what I mean," John said, looking directly into Scully's eyes, asking her to put aside the political answers and cut to the chase.

Scully took a deep breath, uncomfortable under the pressure he was applying. "Well…"

"I'm fine," interrupted a voice.

They all looked up to see Monica in the doorway – but it wasn't Monica as John had known her over the past few weeks. She had changed into a pair of black pants with a white blouse, leather jacket and heels, and though the clothes were hanging off her as they hadn't before the crash, highlighting how much weight she had lost, she still looked absolutely stunning. She was wearing make-up again, had her hair tied up in a fancy knot at the back of her head, but most of all, she was wearing a classic Monica Reyes bounce-back-from-hell smile. Her eyes were shining, and she didn't look like a woman who was going to the funeral of an old friend.

"Something out of place?" she joked, grinning from ear to ear at his staring.

"No," he said. "Matter of fact, you look great."

She grinned wider. "In that case I'll forgive your staring."

Her smile disarmed him, and he felt something inside him squirm at the look on her face, but a second later he was off the hook as she came further into the room, her heels clicking on the floor as she headed toward Scully.

"You look much better," Scully said, and the two of them linked hands.

"So do you," Monica said, and John saw her give Scully the once-over. "Your colour's back. Your Mom will be relieved."

"What?" Scully said playfully, a smile on her lips. "Are you saying I looked dreadful yesterday?"

Monica gave a nervous laugh. "I'm saying you scared the crap out of us yesterday."

"You're one to talk," Scully said. "If you wanted revenge you didn't have to do it quite so thoroughly."

Monica's smile faded a few degrees. She seemed embarrassed by the memory, and she looked away for a moment. Scully squeezed her hand, to comfort her and to bring her attention back.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better," Monica said, her smile returning. "Hungry, actually."

"Grab some breakfast," John said. "We've got cereal, toast, fruit…"

Monica glanced around as John pointed to the options around his kitchen, and then she let go of Scully's hand and headed for the fruit bowl.

"I might just try an apple," she said, picking out one from the pile. "I don't want to tempt fate."

John expected her to bite right into it, but instead she headed for his cutlery drawer and started fishing around for a knife. John was reminded of a time when she'd eaten a polish sausage with a plate, and as she selected a knife and then went for a plate, John inwardly smiled, amused.

His amusement broke with the doorbell rang. John took a step before he heard Christi shout, "I'll get it!" and heard her jogging down the stairs. Remembering the media were probably out there, John was happy to let her have the honour.

He listened as she opened the door and then she shouted, "Dana!"

"The gang's here," Mulder said, as he finished off the last of his cereal and pushed his chair back. Scully smiled at him and made her way to the kitchen entrance, going to meet her family. A second later, Mulder followed her and the two of them disappeared into a murmur of voices in his front hallway.

John, however, took advantage of their absence to turn and step up to Monica's side. She had sliced her apple into quarters, and was cutting out the pips when she saw him, and glanced sideways.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, her voice down so they wouldn't be heard. "You look depressed."

"Just wondering if _you're_ okay," he said, his tone making it clear that no matter how many smiles and laughs she threw out at them, he had known her too long to be fully convinced.

She didn't reply immediately, but put down the knife gently onto the plate and turned to face him. His hand slid off her back and he let it fall naturally to grasp hers. She looked down at their clasped hands. Her eyes were no longer sparkling.

"It's been almost three weeks now," she said, looking back up at him. "I suppose you get used to it like anything else."

John thought that statement was the biggest load of bullshit he'd ever heard from her, but instead he gave her a knowing look and said, "Is that the truth?"

She looked away, unable to stand his probing eyes, and gazed out through his kitchen window to the snow scene in his yard. After a moment, she took a deep breath, and turned back to him.

"I didn't love him," she said quietly. "It's been a long time since we had anything. We barely even had a friendship the last few years."

"You were good friends _once_," John said. "Doesn't that count?"

"Well yes, but –"

"You're not the only one hurt by this," John said. "Dana and I talked about it last night. We just figure that if it feels this painful to have this happen to someone we barely knew – to have them commit suicide a few feet away – we can't imagine how it must feel when you know the person, shared two years of your life with them."

"Five," Monica corrected automatically. "We worked together three years before he made a move."

"And you got along well," John supplied.

"Yeah," Monica whispered, her expression becoming faraway as her mind went back to her time in the New York field office.

John let her have her moment, at least glad that her lack of a smile indicated she wasn't re-living any of the memories which John wouldn't be able to stand hearing about. As much as he felt guilty for Follmer's death, and wanted to help Monica be honest with them, he would prefer to do it without having to hear about their sexual encounters.

Then, without warning, she exploded. "God, John, I can't believe he _fucking_ did this!"

Her hand left his, she swung around and delivered a heavy kick to his kitchen cupboard. It made a BANG so loud he was surprised she didn't snap the wood in half, and then she gripped the edges of his bench so hard her knuckles went white, and lowered her head.

John edged closer. He put his arm around her, and she turned under it, letting him hug her. She rested her head against his shoulder and he rubbed her back. She didn't cry, but closed her eyes, soaking up his affection and drawing strength from it.

Then John heard Christi's voice calling from the living room. "John, everything okay?"

He could hear her walking closer as she spoke, and knew they must have been alerted by the heavy thud of Monica's kick.

"Fine," John called back. He knew Christi would know not to come in. He was glad when Mulder and Scully didn't come in either. In fact, from the increase in chatter, they seemed to be distracting her family, giving them space they knew on instinct he and Monica needed.

John, though, hugging Monica, felt a strange sense of relief. He had asked her to be honest with them, to drop the smiling charade, and she had. But the fact that she wasn't crying, and merely felt a sense of anger, relaxed him, because it meant that slowly she _was_ healing, and that they would indeed get past this.

_**Chapter Thirty – Full House**_

Christi stretched out lazily in the armchair. She yawned, crossed her legs, and struggled to focus her mind and pull it out of the sleep it was longing for. Mulder, Dana, and Dana's family were sitting down in the other chairs around her. The Scullys had just arrived. Christi had answered the door and welcomed them in from the icy coldness outside, taken their coats, and after everyone had hugged each other they had come into the living room to warm themselves by the fire. She noticed that all Dana's family looked much better than they had yesterday. Yesterday they had looked exhausted, having only had a few hours of sleep, but now they had recovered and were looking fresh and ready for another day of supporting Dana. All of them, too, were dressed in black for the funeral; Charles and Bill in neat suits, and Tara and Margaret in black pants and tops, Margaret also with an old broach pinned to her front.

"You look tired, dear," Margaret said to her, as she took a seat with her daughter. She saw Dana's eyes flick over to her.

"Strange bed," Christi said, faking a smile as she lied. She wasn't going to tell her the truth: that her mind had been so overflowing with thoughts that she had had trouble sleeping. She had had a few hours – three or so – but then she had woken to Monica vomiting in the bathroom and hadn't returned to sleep afterward.

"Strange circumstances," Charlie said, sitting down and smiling sympathetically. She couldn't help noticing that Charlie had a handsome smile. His eyes twinkled boyishly, but he had a maturity in his stance and manners that Christi liked. He was nothing like Bill, who seemed to her to be so intense and out of place in the whole scenario. Charlie was softer, more understanding, and though he had a handsome physique, much less macho. She saw he was sensitive to his sister's pain, and that hidden behind his playful smile was a very smart man who had a very firm understanding of what they were facing.

"Are John and Monica around?" Margaret asked, glancing around.

Christi nodded. "Just getting some breakfast. They'll be out in a sec'."

She met Dana's eyes and saw worry there. She knew Dana knew this was a lie, but to her credit, she covered her worry before anyone in her family had a chance to catch it. By the time Christi glanced to Mulder, and then back, Dana's face was impassive again.

"So what's news?" Dana asked, looking across to Bill and Tara.

"You are," Bill said. "You made the front page."

"I wasn't aware we'd left it," Mulder said dully.

"What for this time?" Dana asked, her tone impatient.

"Your faint," Tara said, looking at sister-in-law with perfect understanding of how much she hadn't wanted to hear that.

Scully sighed and exchanged an annoyed look with Mulder next to her.

"All the things happening in the world," she said. "All the revolutions, murders, wars and natural disasters and the top story our beloved media give is that I was momentarily unconscious."

"Well they have to make a profit," Bill said. "There's not much money in boring truths."

Charlie glanced at his brother and then looked back to Dana, a hesitant expression on his face. "But it wasn't _totally_ without significance."

"What do you mean?" Christi asked.

To answer, Charlie reached inside the coat he was wearing over his suit and pulled out a newspaper. He unfolded it and held it up for everyone to see. Christi sat forward so she could see and saw a huge black headline, "FBI FURY". There were two photos side by side above, one of Charlie carrying Dana, her head limp on his shoulder, and the other of AD Cassidy, talking angrily into a herd of microphones, the FBI logo behind her on the wall.

"They've declared war on your behalf," Margaret said gently.

Dana's face, which had been hard and annoyed, softened at the sight of the front page her brother was holding up. Her eyes narrowed, she sat up straight, and there was curiosity in her eyes where there had been only frustration before.

"May I have a look?" she asked, reaching out. Charlie handed her the paper. Christi noticed everyone's eyes were on Dana and Mulder, wondering how they were going to take it. She herself wondered. She had been protecting John and his new friends from the news, just as everyone else had. The television remained off, as did the radio, and though she herself had kept an eye on the news on their behalf, she never let on half of the disturbing things she heard and read. She knew they were not ready to hear most of it, were still very uncomfortable with their newfound fame, and would be even more uncomfortable if they read of the criticism some of the papers held. For while most of the world was in awe and on their side, there were a few odd people and religious groups who were not in agreement with what they had done.

Christi let Dana read for a moment before her curiosity got the better of her.

"What does it say?" she asked.

"That it was a disgrace," Mulder said, who was reading over Dana's shoulder. "…A disgusting exhibition of the scourge of sensationalism … the worst insult when a woman who has reminded us of the power of the human spirit is struck down by its very opposite … and that the real cannibals are those who see a feast in a fellow human being experiencing tragedy, and hold out their hands for profit instead of stretching out the hand of compassion."

Dana's eyes broke from the page and she turned it over.

"I see that didn't stop them from publishing the photos," Christi said, glancing at the spread of pictures across the inside pages.

"They've made a small effort," Charlie said. "They managed to focus on the beating we gave them." He paused, and a smile cracked across his face. "You came out well."

"What?"

Mulder took the paper from Dana and held it up for her to see. Christi saw herself in a photo on the second page, shouting furiously at a photographer she had been pushing back, her hand over his camera.

Christi cringed. It wasn't a good photo at all. She looked aggressive.

She sighed and looked away, and at that moment was saved by the sound of two more people coming into the house. She heard the front door open, thud shut again, and then the sound of the lock clicking. She heard her parents' voices as they came down the hallway and then saw them as they walked into the living room.

"Good morning!" her mother said, walking in and smiling around at everyone.

"Hi Mom, Dad," Christi said, amongst the greetings of others in the room. Mulder shut the newspaper and folded it up on his lap. Christi saw her mother's kind eyes pass over everyone, pausing for a second on Dana and Mulder, and then move onto herself, as she crossed the room to greet her. Christi stood up, wanting to get her weary mind off the newspaper.

"Good grief," her mother said, her smile faltering into a worried expression.

Christi hugged her mother, kissing her on the cheek. She smiled at her father, who had already engaged himself in a conversation with Mulder on the newspaper in his lap. Then she felt her mother's hand on her shoulder and looked back to her.

"You look exhausted," she said, voice soft. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," she said, smiling. "I'm fine."

Her mother rubbed her shoulder, and then they were interrupted again by John and Monica returning from the kitchen. John had his arm around Monica, and Monica was holding a small plate of apple quarters. They separated as they moved closer; John went to hug their mother, and Monica walked past them to Dana and Mulder, her eyes narrowed.

"Is something the matter?" Monica asked, heading over to Dana.

Christi didn't listen to the conversation further, and took advantage of the chaos to sneak off to the kitchen for some coffee. She felt drained, and not just physically, but mentally too. She didn't feel at all comfortable with what had happened during the night, and was dreading going to the funeral. Not only did she expect a repeat of the media's disgraceful behaviour, but there was also the fact they had to contend with hundreds of other FBI agents, Brad Follmer's family, Brad Follmer's actual funeral, and their reactions _to_ the funeral. If Monica was throwing up just thinking about his death, Christi didn't like her chances of surviving a funeral service.

She crossed to the kettle and flipped the switch, then leaned backwards against the bench and closed her eyes. She covered her eyes with her hands, wearily trying to wipe away her exhaustion, wishing she could shove all her concerns aside. When she emerged from her hands, she realised she wasn't alone.

Both her mother and Dana's were in the kitchen entrance. Margaret walked further in and stood beside the table. Her own mother slid the wooden sliding doors closed to allow them some privacy and then walked over to stand beside her.

"All right," she said, "what happened?"

"Nothing happened," Christi said. "I just didn't sleep well."

"Did you sleep at all?"

"A few hours," she answered. "I'll be okay once I've had some coffee."

There was a short pause. Neither her mother nor Margaret looked convinced.

"You look troubled," Margaret said.

Christi took a deep breath, feeling under pressure and being too tired to take it. She weighed her options. She felt a loyalty to John, Monica, Dana and Mulder, but also understood the need to tell their families the truth.

"It's just Monica," she said, lowering her voice.

"Did she get upset?" her mother questioned quietly. "Did something happen?"

"She got sick," Christi said. "I found her vomiting in the bathroom upstairs around four o'clock this morning. She had a fever of 103. Dana managed to get her temperature down, but she gave us all a bit of a scare in the meantime. She was barely conscious."

"That's the third time," Margaret said, her face worried. She leaned back against the table and shook her head.

Christi nodded. "It seems to be related to things she's remembering. As long as she's with the others and being distracted by conversation she's fine, but as soon as she's left with her own thoughts she's back on the mountain again, reliving it all."

Her mother sighed under the heavy load. Christi let the pause stretch for a few seconds before continuing.

"I mean, other than that, the night went well. They slept in the living room, but that's just because they needed to be near each other, and after two weeks sleeping on the hard floor of that plane I guess it felt natural for them. Dana slept well, too. Apparently she's been having nightmares, but John says she sleeps better when she knows she's not alone. As long as she senses the others nearby she's fine." She paused and took a breath. "But Monica … I just don't know what to do. She's going to end up back in hospital if she keeps this up. I suppose we could have a word with her parents, but personally I don't know if that'd do any good. They're…"

"A pair of nutcases," her mother said, finishing the sentence for her.

Christi smiled wryly.

"They won't be of any use," Margaret said, and Christi saw in her face that already the woman had a hatred for them, the same feeling Christi felt somewhere deep within her, but had been trying to squash down.

"Do you know what memory it is that's triggering all this?" her mother asked.

Christi took another deep breath and gave herself a few seconds before answering. "It could be any one of a dozen. But … I have a nasty hunch."

"What is it?" Margaret asked.

"Brad Follmer," Christi answered.

"Her mother said she didn't know him," Margaret said, confused.

"She's pulling wool over their eyes," Christi said. "And John, Dana and Mulder are all right in with her." She paused. "I think they had an affair."

Both women stared.

"What makes you think that?" her mother asked, her voice doubtful.

"A few things," Christi said. "When they asked her last night what had made her sick, and she said she was remembering things, Mulder's first comment was Brad's name. And she threw up again when he mentioned him. Then there was her reaction that day in the hospital, when they told what happened. The way they all moved to comfort her, the way John pulled her into his lap … it's a reaction too strong to be that of a boss she hardly knew. It made me think she'd been either friends with him, or perhaps in a relationship with him in the past, and judging from the way her know-it-all parents are in the dark over the fact that she knew him my money's on the latter."

There was silence following her explanation, and she knew it made sense to both her mother and Margaret Scully.

"What a mess," her mother finally said. "It's not bad enough that they watched a man shoot himself, but now we know Monica once had a relationship with him, she's going to his funeral today, and she'll probably be fired if she opens her mouth about it."

"What worries me more is how sick she was last night," Christi said. "It's one thing for it to happen in the privacy of this house, but it'll be quite another story if it happens again today in front of 400 nosey witnesses."

Her mother sighed. "What do you want to do?"

"I was hoping you'd have a suggestion."

"Maybe this secrecy is just the problem," Margaret said. "She's got it all bottled up and can't get away from it. Maybe we've been wrong in not pushing them to talk about these things, in being afraid to mention them. It might hurt them, but it's not going to get easier with time, is it?"

"No, it's not," Anne agreed.

"Do you want to ask them about it?" Christi asked. "Get them to tell us what happened?"

"Maybe it'll help for them to express their feelings," Margaret said.

"When do you want to do it?"

"Well considering the noon deadline," Margaret said, "how's now?"

_**Chapter Thirty-One – Back to New York**_

It had been at least five minutes since Christi had disappeared into the kitchen, and since Margaret and Anne had followed her in and closed the sliding doors behind them. Monica stood in front of the fire, slowly eating her way through her apple quarters, and wondering what the three of them were talking about. She couldn't hear them talking, but knew it must be about them. Of course, Anne had been worried about her daughter – Monica had felt a little worried herself, Christi seemed so down – but she knew that Christi must also be facing a full interview on what had happened during the night. She also appreciated the awkward position all of them had placed Christi in: she was the bridge between themselves as survivors, and their families who were trying to respect their need for space. She knew the Scullys were placing a lot of trust in someone they hardly knew, even though it was clear they liked her, and they were trusting her to give them a full, detailed, honest report on how Dana and all of them were coping. And the longer the sliding doors remained closed, the surer Monica became that Christi was indeed giving them that. She did not entirely mind – it was much easier for Christi to tell them than for Monica to do it herself – and she was trying to remain loyal to them being open to their families, knowing that their coming through all this very much depended on it. But there was still an irrational part of her that was uncomfortable with it.

John stood next to her. He had his arm around her waist, partly to comfort her, partly to comfort himself. But he too, wasn't paying any attention to the conversation taking place between the Scullys and Jack. His eyes, like hers, were on the sliding doors, and periodically exchanging looks with Scully and Mulder, who also looked uncomfortable.

As Monica forced herself to pick up the third apple quarter, John leaned in to her ear.

"I copped a bullet in the ass once that was more comfortable than this," he muttered.

Monica smiled at him. "You never told me you shot in the ass," she whispered back.

"It's not somethin' you brag about," he said, but he smiled back at her.

Before she could throw him a witty reply, she caught Dana's questioning eyes across the room. She had been watching them talk, wondering what the topic of conversation was that had them talking in such whispers, and Monica threw a smile and a wink in her direction to reassure her they were both okay.

At that moment the sliding doors opened, and Christi, Anne and Margaret all emerged, each with a mug of coffee in their hands. Margaret went to sit back down beside Scully, upon which her daughter gave her a hard, questioning look, her blue eyes boring into her mother's; Christi made her way over to herself and John by the fire, standing beside Monica and taking a sip of her coffee, and Anne did the same, standing on the other side of John. It was this obvious flanking of them that made Monica pause with her fingers on her last apple quarter.

"Did we pass the test?" John said, looking to his mother.

"Surely we have a right to be worried," Margaret said, in response to both Dana's expression and John's comment.

"You'd be hurt if we didn't care," Anne added, putting her hand on John's shoulder.

"You could have asked us straight out," Scully said, looking at her mother.

"Would you have told me the truth?" her mother countered, her face as hard and stubborn as her daughter's.

Monica saw Scully lower her head, but not before her blue eyes momentarily caught Monica's, and Monica knew that no, had Scully been given the choice, she would not have blabbed about Monica's vomiting, about anything else that might have happened. And as Monica moved her eyes to Anne's, she knew that Christi had indeed told them about her illness. She felt a knot forming in her stomach, and looked away from everyone's eyes. She focused on her plate, on the last apple quarter, but didn't feel at all like eating it now. Her innards seemed to have developed a zero tolerance on stress, and as she felt everyone in the room looking at her, a wave of nausea erupted inside her. She took a step to steady her balance, but it was too late, everyone had seen it.

Christi took the plate from her hands and Margaret immediately stood up.

"Come sit down, dear," she said, waving her to take her place beside Dana.

Anne moved forward from beside John and gently took her shoulder, helping her forward as Monica felt her legs turn to jelly yet again.

"Oh Margaret, what are we going to do with these tough FBI agents?" Anne said affectionately, her arm around Monica's back. She helped her down into the chair and Monica immediately put her head in her hands to shelter herself from the silent gazes of Tara, Bill and Charlie, who were all on the sofa opposite. She felt Dana's arm go around her back, her hand rubbing in circles on Monica's leather jacket. She heard Mulder get up and knew he was going to fetch her a glass of water. Anne sat down on the coffee table directly in front of her. She put her hands on Monica's knees. As Monica hid behind her hands, breathing slowly to try to calm her stormy stomach, she heard Mulder come back with the water and pass it to Scully, and also heard Christi put the plastic bucket on the carpet beside her. Around her hands she saw John had moved forward and was standing with Christi, looking down at her with moist eyes.

"All right," Anne said. "Come on out from under there. Stop hiding."

She reached up and gently pried Monica's hands away from her face, and lowered them to Monica's knees, where she held them in hers. Monica felt too embarrassed to meet anyone's eyes, and kept them instead on the first thing she saw: the bucket on the floor, waiting patiently beside her legs.

"Mulder," Anne said, and nodded to the empty spot beside Scully. "Sit down."

"All right," Anne went on, squeezing Monica's hands. "I'm going to say this to all of you." She spoke gently, her tone kind but firm. "You have nothing – and I mean _nothing_ – to be ashamed of. I know in your line of work emotions are an unwanted accessory; that you have to remain professionally detached. But we all know this isn't just another case, and it's not a battle you're going to win using those tools of cold-hearted detachment. Walking into a funeral with your gun cocked and a stony expression isn't going to do anything to heal your pain." She paused. "But honesty will. And that's why we're here. That's why we've followed you across the continent. Not to watch this dazzling display of FBI muscle, but to help you with the pain you're feeling. And we _know_ you're all feeling it. I can't believe there's anyone who could go through what you've been through and not feel the urge to cry, or to vomit, to collapse, or to smash something to smithereens. So if that's what you need to do, you go right ahead. You vomit as many times as you need to, Monica. I promise you I have no shortage of hugs. Just tell us the truth."

Monica felt stunned as Anne finished her speech. Her chest heaved with each breath, but it was no longer due to the nausea. She felt tears in her eyes, and looked up to the woman in front of her, meeting Anne's blue eyes – those same loyal, kind eyes inherited by both John and Christi – and felt a surge of emotion for the woman. She had not known her well before, although they had met during the investigation into Luke's disappearance. She remembered a time then when the tables had been turned the other way, and Monica had seen Anne crying in the police station, and had broken every rule of professionalism and moved forward to hug her. It had been awkward at first, Monica had been hesitant and not knowing if she was going to be rejected in comforting a woman over twice her age. But Anne had been shattered enough to accept comfort from anyone, any stranger who dared to care, to show compassion and that her grandson was not just another statistic. She wondered now if Anne remembered that moment, felt sure that she did, that she had been warmed by it and was now keen to finally help her in return. And her chest still throbbing from the shockwaves, Monica took a deep breath, and felt her strength return.

She glanced around at her friends. Christi had her arm around John. He had trails of tears showing on his cheeks. Beside her, as she looked around she saw Dana hesitantly raise her eyes to Bill and Charlie. Dana was crying silently, too. Her brothers nodded to her, sending her their love in a silent communication the Scullys were all so good at. Scully then looked to Tara, who mouthed "We love you", and Monica's eyes moved past Scully to Mulder. Mulder looked shaken by Anne's speech, and had tears in his eyes like the rest of them, but what seemed to have thrown him most was the fact that Jack – John's handsome father – had gripped his shoulder to comfort him, his strong hand sending sympathy waves to the man who had no family to help him, and as Monica had earlier seen Margaret take on the role of mother to Mulder, she now saw Jack also stepping in to offer support. And as Monica looked around the room, it occurred to her that the clear cut lines of family were fading, and that now they were truly all in it together – all except her own parents, who had not yet arrived…

"Here, have some water."

Anne took the glass of water from Scully's hands and held it up to her mouth. Monica took a sip and then held the glass in her lap. She was surprised to see that her own pale hands were trembling slightly.

"Monica," came Margaret's voice from the behind the couch. Monica glanced around to see that she had positioned herself between Dana and Mulder, and had a hand on Dana's shoulder. "Tell us about Brad Follmer."

Monica felt her insides clench. She knew they were asking her to tell them not only about Follmer, but what had happened. She saw suddenly that the four of them had kept details of the events on the mountain so well-hidden in their hearts that the Doggetts and Scullys were going to the funeral of a man in two hours' time of who they knew absolutely nothing about. Not only of the man, but of why they were attending at all.

Slowly, Monica nodded. Anne's hands were still on her knees, and she found the touch gave her the strength to begin talking.

"I worked with him in New York," she began. "We were friends a while."

"I knew him too," John said. He left Christi's side and came and sat on the arm rest beside her. Immediately his arm went around her shoulders. "Our paths crossed a few times when I was with the NYPD. He was the Special Agent in Charge of the Bureau's New York office."

"He was the one who assigned me to Luke's case," Monica said.

She paused at the end of the sentence, wondering how they were going to take the news that Follmer had been directly involved in the investigation into Luke's kidnapping.

"A worthy choice," Jack said, who still had his hand on Mulder's arm.

When none of them fell apart at the subject of Luke, Monica felt encouraged to go on.

"He was a workaholic," she said. "He never had much of a social life. I used to joke that he slept there under the desk. He solved a number of big cases, made friends in high places, and they promoted him to assistant director a year after I'd been transferred to New Orleans. We'd fallen out of touch, we let the friendship slide. And then a year later John called me to DC, I landed on the X-Files, and we came into contact with each other again."

"Did you reignite the friendship?" Christi asked.

"We met up a few times," she said, "but it wasn't the same. I think we'd both changed."

There was a pause.

"Did you know him?" Bill asked, looking to Dana.

Scully's hand had been rubbing Monica's back, below where John's arm still rested across her shoulders, but it slowed at Bill's question.

"Uh … not very well, no. He didn't supervise the X-Files. This last case was the first time I'd really had any lengthy contact with him. He was the task force leader."

Monica knew that wasn't the entire truth. She could remember a few times when Scully had been in contact with him, but none of them had been happy occasions, and on none of them had the two got along. She was debating whether to tell the truth on Scully's behalf when Mulder got there first.

"We didn't get along with him," Mulder said, his hand slipping onto Scully's thigh and joining with hers. "He was no friend of the X-Files."

"It hardly matters now," Scully said, casting Monica a sorry glance and sighing. "Now … I wish I had got along with him. It's hard to dislike a man who … has this happen to him."

"Did you see it coming at all?" Charlie asked gently.

"Only in hindsight," Scully said.

"When you look back, you see it," Mulder explained. "It's like looking at a completed jigsaw puzzle. But at the time we only had a few pieces in place, and we had no way of knowing that it was going to form such a tragic picture."

"He was all right when we first crashed," Scully said. "There was so much to do, people to tend to, tasks to be done to assist with survival. He fell into the role of leader quite naturally. When the alarms first went off in the plane, it was him who went to question the pilots. After we crashed he was the first to look for a radio to call for help. Then he made sure everyone had warm clothes to wear while we waited."

"It became harder and harder as the waiting stretched on," Monica said. "You feel the pressure inside you. You start questioning things, losing hope. And I think that's where we had the advantage. We'd already been working together for over a year, had been through a lot. We had each other to lean on, to snap us out of our doubts. Whereas Brad didn't have that."

"He became withdrawn," John said. "When we first carried the bodies outside, you could see him staring, struggling to swallow it. He spent hours in the role of lookout, watching for signs of a rescue."

"He carried Holly back after we found her," Scully said.

"Maybe it was all he knew to do," Mulder said sadly. "You remember how upset Kim was." Monica met his eyes as he looked at her. "How you held her in the snow, how long it was before she calmed down. I don't think he knew what to do to help her. He was a man of rules and memorised procedures, unfamiliar with the irrational paths of the human heart."

"The same skills which helped him climb to the top of the FBI caused his own demise," Scully said.

Monica felt a jolt at Scully's words, and her mind went instantly to the scene she remembered so well: Brad lying dead in the snow, blood everywhere, his gun at his side. She took a deep breath in an effort to halt the nausea before it rose too high up her throat. Just as fast, John and Dana both looked at her and tightened their arms around her. Anne rubbed her knees. The conversation stopped for a few moments as she caught herself, forcing her mind onto the memory of stargazing with Scully, trying to picture the peace as Scully had told her to do.

When she'd calmed and the wave had subsided, she took another drink of water. Her hands still hadn't stopped trembling, and the water in the glass shook as she lowered it to her knees again.

"Do you remember how it happened?" Anne asked, her voice extra soft.

"All too vividly," Monica replied. She did not want to elaborate, and was glad when the others sensed this and took over the thread for her.

"We'd caught a news report," Mulder said. "Follmer had found a radio the previous day and we managed to tune into a station for a few minutes. The news wasn't good. We'd heard they still had no idea where we were, and the weather bureau predicted blizzards for the following three days. It was the fourth day we'd been there by then. We were all weak with hunger and the cold, and we began to worry about our prospects."

"He was convinced the search would be called off," John said. "Thought that by the time they sat out the bad weather and resumed looking they'd figure anyone who managed to survive would be dead and the government would no longer be able to justify the expense of looking for us."

"He began to lose it," Scully added. "His attitude became hostile. He insisted on trying to hike out. I think he said a fast death was preferable to a slow one. We refused, and he went off in a panic to pack."

"Then Monica went to talk him out of it," John said.

There was a pause. Monica knew this was where she was supposed to pick up the story, but she hesitated in the moment.

John leaned in, whispering in her ear. "Hey c'mon. We're right here."

Scully, too, edged closer. She shifted forward on the couch and slid across until her thighs were touching Monica's. Her arm went further around Monica's waist, squeezing her gently.

"I thought I'd changed his mind," Monica said, as the vision of her chat with Brad appeared before her eyes. "We argued, but I thought I'd brought him around. He said we were crazy, that they would never find us and we were facing certain death in staying. I told him if we sealed the plane to stay warm, we could make it. He said we would starve, but I told him he had no chance of hiking out on empty stomach either. And then there was the weather forecast, that he was sure to freeze to death. And then he cracked," she said. "He cried and told me he couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't stand seeing our colleagues lined up in the snow, didn't think he could stand it if anyone else died. I told him I didn't want that to happen, either, and I didn't want to see him march off on a suicide mission. I convinced him to at least wait until the blizzards passed. And we hugged."

Monica shrugged helplessly, wishing she had done so much more.

"A few minutes later he left to relieve himself … and we heard the shot."

There was a shocked silence at the end of her story. No one dared speak.

"We shouted his name," Mulder said, his voice monotone. "We stumbled through the snow toward him, but it was already too late. He'd taken the bullet in his head. He was lying, bleeding into the snow."

There was another long silence. Monica frantically tried to push the picture from her mind, but her stomach knotted against her will. She leaned forward, handing the glass back to Anne, then she folded her arms on her knees and rested her head on them. There she closed her eyes, hoping that in closing her eyes she could close off the memory, but in the darkness it was only more vivid and her stomach knotted further. A wave of heat rushed through her veins, and a distasteful lump was inching up her throat.

She lunged for the bucket just in time, and vomited yet again into it. The sticky mess pooled in the bottom, and she coughed, spitting out the rest from her mouth and trying to rid her throat of the foul taste. Like before, John and Dana were rubbing her back patiently. Monica was at least grateful that this time she'd tied her hair back. As the nausea subsided she lowered her head again onto her knees and closed her eyes. She felt frustrated with her illness, with her inability to keep down a meal. The others had no trouble, and she hated herself for being the one who had to throw up every time her mind drifted in the wrong direction.

"You all right?" John asked, his hand still making long, loving strokes across her shoulders.

Before she could answer the sound of a doorbell rang through the room. Monica knew it was her parents finally arriving, who would no doubt rush into the room in a flurry of worry and launch into another panic attack when they saw her vomiting – and in front of everyone, no less.

Monica groaned at the thought.

"I'll get it," Jack said, and left to answer the door.

Monica forced herself to sit up. One of her arms moved automatically to her stomach, rubbing to try to ease the dull throb within.

"Are you okay?" Mulder asked.

Monica shook her head. "I just wish all this would _end_."

Anne reached forward and put her hand on Monica's shoulder. "It'll get better, in time. You just keep putting one foot in front of the other, and you'll be fine."

"Stick with us, Monica," Scully said. "It'll get easier. We'll go pay our respects, give ourselves a chance to say goodbye, and it's all downhill from there."

"Yeah, on a hundred mile trek," Monica said irritably.

"We made it, though, didn't we?" John said, giving her a squeeze.

Monica's last thought before she heard her parents enter the room, chatting happily, was that that was largely a matter of opinion.

* * *

_This takes it to exactly 100 pages. I totally expected to be at the end of the week by now, and instead I haven't even hit the first funeral - which, incidentally, is coming up next, I swear! I just got a little carried away with Monica's fever and some of the lines I gave Scully and before I knew it ... well it kinda grew. I'm quite keen to tie up this Brad Follmer arc, though - not least because on the other side of it is the DRR . Though that's been bugging me, too. I've had trouble holding those two back, they keep wanting to hug and kiss each other all the time and I've had to keep sitting them down and telling them to keep their hands to themselves for another 24 hours. I'm not sure who's won - LOL. Luckily, the fact that John (the darling fool) still hasn't realised he's in love makes it a little easier. _

_Please, please feedback. I confess my motivation is beginning to wane (I now think this could easily hit 1,000 pages, I've got such a long way to go), and comments from readers do do a lot to perk me up again. _

_Anna xoxo_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Chapter Thirty-Two - Snapshots of a Follmer Funeral**_

In the fifteen years Mulder had been with the FBI, he had never used his psychology training more than he did in the week after their rescue. While before it had been a useful tool, it was now a survival essential and he clung to it with newfound ferocity. He found himself memorising theories, case studies and quotes that he had long forgotten, and turning them over and over in his mind until his brain was rubbed raw from the friction and he thought he could give even the famous Doctor Cheung a run for his money - even without the prestigious medical degree. And when he'd finished pulling the theories out of his mind's archive boxes and had brushed all the dust off, he applied it to his friends. He'd been a sharp observer before, but now there was nothing that missed his eye. He watched their body language closely, analysed every word they spoke, interpreted the meaning of everything they _didn't _speak, and when he found problems resolved to do something about them.

The surprising thing was that so far they had done remarkably well. John, Scully and himself had all been through various forms of trauma before, and there was no doubt that it made the experience slightly easier to take. Of course, what they were going through now was very different to the experience of his own sister's abduction, or to Scully's numerous losses and her battle with cancer. For one thing, this trauma was very much a public deal. Every move they made was screened in the six o'clock news and hit the headlines in the nation's newspapers and it made Mulder feel like a mouse inside a cage. And for Scully, who was used to dealing with her pains in private, it was a struggle. He knew she ordinarily had enough trouble letting him in, let alone her family, several thousand FBI colleagues and the snooping eyes of the NBC. Her faint outside the FBI and the stricken look of shame on her face afterwards had been evidence of that. But John ... John had taken it best, thanks mainly to the harrowing experience of losing Luke. Mulder knew that had been an extremely high profile investigation, and had stayed as the top story on the news for over a week. Consequently, John was largely immune to the effect of the looming media. He despised them, distrusted them, but it didn't unravel in him the forces of anxiety that it did in himself and Scully. While they felt close to collapse every time a camera appeared, John took it with a simple look of haunting familiarity - the same look Mulder had caught at various stages on his sweet-faced sister and his weary-looking parents.

Monica, meanwhile, had no experiences of trauma to fall back on, and was going through it all for the first time with the whole world watching her. He also thought that out of the four of them, she was also the most compassionate and soft-hearted, and was bound to be feeling the deaths of their friends quite deeply. He knew she was just as strong as the rest of them - she had proved that several hundred times over - but the enemy of painful memories and mental anguish hit her at her weakest point, and it was no surprise to him when she began vomiting, even though the experience of watching her hunched over with her head in the bucket had shaken him to the core. He knew that Scully was scared too, although she had been careful to not reveal it in front of John. Monica was so weak, so deathly skinny, so pale, and her repeated vomiting and inability to keep anything down was steadily making her sicker and crumbling whatever strength she had left. When Mulder added her twinkle-eyed parents into the equation - whose presence seemed to propel Monica into a draining state of fake smiling and denying everything - he knew they were in strife.

He contemplated this as he drove to the multideck car park where they were meeting for Brad Follmer's funeral. It was two blocks down from the old, stone cathedral the funeral was being held in, and they had agreed with their families that they would meet there beforehand and walk up the road to the crowd of cameras together. Mulder reflected dimly that normally parking wasn't such a problem in this area of DC; their government permits allowed them to park anywhere. But when there were a few hundred other agents also attending, the stickers became worthless.

He entered the carpark, gently ascending the concrete ramp to the upper levels, and as he turned the corners he glanced into the rearview mirror, into the backseat where John and Monica were sitting. Neither of them had spoken a word since getting into the car back in Falls Church. Of course, Monica had just finished a vomiting spree at the time, and once the cameras outside John's house had disappeared behind them, she had leaned her head back and gazed silently out the window. Two miles further and her eyes were closed, though he knew she wasn't asleep. John, like him, had been casting worried looks in her direction, but she seemed to want to be left alone to rest, and they gave her the chance. Scully, too, had been thoughtful and distant, and so the whole trip had been taken in a heavy silence.

He parked the car in a spot beside a dirty pillar and turned off the engine. Glancing around, he saw that this level of the car park was mostly empty.

"It doesn't look as though they're here yet," Scully said, her blue eyes scanning their surroundings in the dim winter light.

Mulder pocketed Monica's car keys and turned to look in the direction of the back seat. There was no hurry to get out until their families arrived. He knew it was freezing outside. It had stopped snowing, but the air was icy and a cold wind was slicing through everything in its path.

Monica rolled her head away from the window and looked up at them, brown eyes tired. There was none of the smiling or humour she had given her parents.

"How you feelin'?" John asked.

"I'm wishing I was somewhere else," she said. Her tone was flat. Mulder had never seen her so down before. In fact, before the crash he hadn't seen her down at all. Monica Reyes was not one for sinking into depression. She had her emotional moments like every other person, but with Monica it was never long before she bounced back again, all smiles. But looking at her in the back seat, rubbing her upper arms tensely as though she was cold, he wondered if she'd be able to pull herself out of the pit this time, whether she'd even be able to make it to the other end of the funeral.

He exchanged a nervous glance with Scully.

"You still feel nauseous?" Scully asked, turning awkwardly in the seat to look at her. Her red hair dangled against the seat.

"It's passed for now," she said.

Mulder particularly heard the last two words: _for now_, and it only inflated his doubts about the wisdom of what they were doing.

"Are you sure you can handle this?" he asked, as gently as he could. "If you like, we can still turn back, no harm done. We can take some flowers to the grave this evening, when the crowd's gone."

"No," she said, strength coming back into her voice. "I'm not going to ditch him again."

"We didn't ditch him," Scully said. "I think if anything, he ditched us."

It was as though Monica didn't even hear her. She unfolded her arms and put her hands in her lap, rubbing them together in a nervous gesture. Mulder saw John look up at them, then back to Monica.

"We could do our own tribute," John suggested. "We could write down some happy memories for his family or somethin'. Even stop off at another church on the way home, say a few prayers, if you want."

Mulder knew very well that John wasn't a fan of religion, as did Monica, and when he said those words she slowly raised her eyes to his.

"Whatever you need," he said simply.

"Is John Doggett converting?" she asked. There was no humour in her voice as Mulder was used to hearing when she cracked comments like that. Her eyes were not twinkling, her lips not twitching as though a grin was going to crack open, but her tone was slightly lighter than it had been before.

John tilted his head to the side a little, and Mulder could see his hatred of religion being weighed up against his love for Monica.

Eventually he shrugged. "If it'll help."

"Oh, John ..."

Her eyes softened and met those of John. Mulder saw the way they were looking into each other's eyes, sharing something, and he slowly turned away. Scully did the same, and when she leaned her head back against her headrest, staring contentedly through the windscreen, Mulder saw a smile curve up on the corner of her lips. Then Mulder looked out through Scully's window and saw a blue sedan gliding in two spaces up from them. Inside were the Doggetts.

"Your family's here," Mulder said, chancing a glance at the pair in the back seat. They were still staring at each other, and were not even touching, but Monica's chest was heaving with deep breaths, as though she was sucking in strength from him, and he noticed she was no longer tense or fidgety, but looking strong and in control.

Bounce back Monica had struck again.

He felt relief whoosh through him with the force of Niagara Falls, and he smiled as he reached for the door handle. "I'll go meet them. You kids take your time."

He quickly got out the car and shut the door behind him. As he looked back in through the window he saw Scully's eyes meet his, the same smile still playing on her lips, but directed toward him this time, for his obvious comment on something they both knew, but of which their two friends currently knew nothing. Mulder winked at her, and then walked around the car, heading for Anne, Jack and Christi, who were getting out of theirs.

Scully joined him, but the second she shut the door behind her with a soft thud, her smile vanished as her body gave way in a violent shiver. Not one for whinging, she jammed her hands into her armpits, hugging herself. Mulder, too, felt the icy wind blowing straight through his suit, and paused slightly on his walk to meet the Doggetts.

"Let's hope the church is heated, huh?" he said quietly, leaning down to talk in her ear as her hair blew around.

She looked sideways at him and said, voice lowered, "Four hundred politicans, it's likely to have more hot air than anywhere on the planet."

He smiled, but tried to hold it back as the three Doggetts walked up to them. Almost immediately, he heard John and Monica exit the car behind them.

"Oh my God," Monica muttered, in a verbal cringe of a shiver that shot straight up her spine.

"Jesus Christ," John echoed.

The two of them stepped up beside himself and Scully, Monica hugging herself the same way as Scully. John slid his hands into his pockets. Mulder bit back a joke about John getting into the swing of his religious conversion, knowing it wasn't a time for humour.

"Here, Monica," Christi said, unbuttoning her black overcoat that went down to near her knees. "Take this before you get pneumonia."

Monica seemed to know it would be pointless to argue and she thanked Christi as she held the coat out for her and Monica slipped her arms into it. The two women were the same size, and the fit was perfect. As Monica reached to button it, however, the shrill sound of her cellphone came from inside her suit, and Monica finished around in her leather jacket, pulled it out and glanced at the screen as it rang and vibrated in her hand.

"My mother," she told them, and turned around, walking a few steps away as she answered it, talking in Spanish.

Mulder's mind, still running on analytical adrenaline, registered instantly that Monica had called her mother "mother", not "mom". It felt like such a detached reference that he wondered again what kind of relationship the Reyes family normally had. Or, perhaps, was Monica's choice of words simply due to the class factor? He knew they were a reasonably wealthy family, and he had never seen her around them before. But his instincts told him otherwise and as he hung back from the pack and watched her talking, her back to them, he made up his mind about something.

"Mulder, you okay?"

Scully's voice brought him back to reality. She stood before him, still hugging herself, still shivering.

"Yeah, just thinking."

He thought she was going to question him, and her worried eyes did follow his across to Monica, but as her mouth opened to comment, another set of footsteps approached loudly from behind, and he spun around to see the Scully clan walking toward them. Their eyes instantly fell on Scully.

"Dana, what are you doing?" Bill demanded. "You trying to land yourself in the ICU?"

"Didn't you bring a coat?" Tara asked, with genuine concern.

"I left it at my apartment," Scully said. Then, by way of explanation at their frustrated faces, she added, "It wasn't this bad yesterday."

Margaret Scully shook her head and with a no-nonsense look, unzipped her own black coat and shrugged it off her shoulders. She held it out for her daughter, and Mulder felt amused as he watched Scully struggling to hide her huge frustration at being mothered when she didn't want to be mothered. Her face stiffened, her blue eyes hardened in her mother's direction, but she gave in, not daring to fight. But there was no mistaking her body language. Unfortunately for Scully, there was also no mistaking her mother's, and his amusement increased slightly in the motherly rant that followed.

"You've got to take _care _of yourself," Margaret Scully said, her eyes intense with frustration as she forced her daughter into her coat. "You know what the doctor said about your immune system. You're going to have to be smarter than this, Dana..."

Mulder saw Scully's breath catch in her throat, barely holding back a retort, or at least a blunt reminder on exactly who was the doctor among their group. But to her credit, she held it down, perhaps realising, as he did, that her mother's arguments were not totally without merit.

Tara slid a pale pink scarf from her own neck and slung it around Scully's shoulders, where the wool hung over the zip of the coat and clashed horribly with her red hair. Mulder noted that neither suited her; she had lost so much weight that the coat was loose on her frame, and neither it nor the feminine scarf were Scully's style. But as Tara picked up the ends of the scarf and began to arrange them in a knot that protected Scully's neck, Scully's shivers began to subside, and between that and his amusement at the look in her eyes, it was all worthwhile.

But his amusement was short-lived as a heavy black trench coat was draped over his own shoulder, and Charlie stepped up from behind him and leaned his hand casually on Mulder's other shoulder. As always, Charlie was smiling.

"Unless the Fox is planning to slink back into its den, I suggest it rugs up too."

It was Scully's turn to smile. She grinned at her little brother.

Mulder felt a stab of irritation at Charlie's use of his first name, but quickly swallowed it down. For one thing, he was Scully's brother. For another, he hardly knew him. Then there was the fact that Mulder actually liked him, that he couldn't make a fuss when both Monica and Scully had accepted it without fuss, but most importantly, because he was still holding tight to his determination to help Scully heal the damaged relationships she had with her family. It was one of his new resolutions that he wanted her to have this again, to be able to enjoy the everyday things a normal human being enjoyed. He remembered her talking about them when they were stuck on the mountain, her wistful expression as she considered the thought that was probably never going to see them again. He had seen then in her eyes a realisation of a million lost opportunities, and now that she had another chance, he was going to do everything he could to see that it worked out.

"Thanks," Mulder said, taking the coat from his shoulder and nodding at Charlie. "I owe you."

"You're welcome, brother," Charlie said lightly, letting go of his shoulder.

Scully was still grinning as Mulder put on Charlie's coat. The fit wasn't bad. He did up the buttons just as he heard Monica's heels tapping back toward them.

"My parents are going to meet us at the church," she explained. "So we're ready to go."

Mulder peeled his thoughts away from the realisation that Charlie had actually called him "brother", and wondered why Monica's parents had not met them at the car park as planned. But no one else wondered, Monica didn't volunteer, and Mulder had to let it go. Monica had stepped back up to John, and John's arm immediately went around her on the familiar spring Mulder had seen it develop over the last few weeks, and the Scullys were all turning, looking around for the stairs that would take them to ground level. Margaret, who had her hand resting between Scully's shoulderblades, spotted the necessary door across on the far wall and then, suddenly, all of them were walking, heading for the funeral.

XXX

It was twenty minutes before noon and the streets were crowded. They were two blocks from the church, but with all the startled looks they attracted Mulder felt it was a two blocks that would drain him even more than all the trekking they had done through the Rockies. Everyone stared - men and women in suits waiting to cross the road, people in their cars as they waited for the lights to change, and even a small girl of no more than four, who tugged her father's hand and pointed straight to them. Mulder caught a wild expletive just as it was about to slip off the tip of his tongue and instead groaned it into the back of his throat. Scully, who was walking in front of him with her mother, looked at him over her shoulder to check he was okay. Her face was difficult to read, but she looked strained now under the pressure of being in public again. But Tara, who was next to him, put her hand around his elbow and squeezed gently.

Up ahead, as the little girl's father noticed their discomfort and put a quelling hand atop her head, Mulder saw Anne put a hand on her son's shoulder. He saw Christi, who was walking beside Monica, throw the girl a dazzling smile which made Mulder want to hire her as their PR rep, but most incredibly was that when Monica followed Christi's smile and saw the child, her own lips slipped into a tiny smile as well. Monica, like Christi, clearly had a soft spot for kids. If they could fill the front pew of Follmer's funeral with small cute children, Mulder thought they would be okay.

"Let's cut through the park," Jack said, indicating the green park that covered a block opposite them. It was fairly empty due to the bad weather, and so they would not be harassed as much as following the crowds.

A minute later and they were there, wandering slowly under the deep green trees, and over the remnants of melting snow on the grass. The wind had died down a little, and though it was still freezing cold, it was peaceful. Scully's hair was blowing around less, and she took a step back from her mother to walk with him, her cheeks pink like Tara's scarf around her neck.

"You all right, Mulder?" she asked, leaving her mother to walk with Bill. Tara stepped forward to walk with Charlie, sensing they wanted to have a word alone.

"I'm good," he said, his hands in the pockets of Charlie's coat. His eyes followed Monica, who was walking silently between John and Christi. Neither John nor Monica were carrying any of the conversation, which from the scraps Mulder could hear, was small talk about the gardens around them, and the awful weather of DC compared to that of Georgia.

"You're worried about her," she stated quietly.

He couldn't deny it to Scully. "What's your take?"

Deep down he hoped she'd reassure him that Monica was fine. But as she raised her eyes, watching Monica walk ahead of them, he felt that wasn't going to be the case. And sure enough, she opened her mouth slowly, considering her words all too carefully, and then cocked her head slightly to the side in the way she usually did when about to tell him something he didn't want to hear.

"That bad?" he asked.

She looked up at him, and her blue eyes reflected the worry he felt gripping his own heart.

"Possibly," she said, ending the word with a defeated sigh.

Mulder looked back up, through the gap between Margaret and Bill Scully to Monica, his mind working furiously. He had already made up his mind to do it, and now hardly seemed like an ideal time, but would there ever be an ideal time? There were so many people always around, and if he waited for the right moment it could end up being much too late. And that had been the disastrous mistake they had made with Follmer. They had taken a chance, had not _made _the time, and he had committed suicide. He knew it was better to throw caution into the wind now rather than wait until she collapsed completely, and then make his move.

So when Monica instinctively looked back over her shoulder, as though feeling his eyes boring into the back of her, he jerked his head up slightly, indicating for her come closer. She said something to John and Christi, and then left their company. John stopped, and Mulder, seeing this, put a hand on Scully's shoulder.

"Mind distracting Romeo while I lasso Juliet?" he quipped.

She smiled, but bit it back quickly as Monica approached, and then headed off in John's direction. She squeezed Monica's hand as she passed her.

Monica fell into step beside him, and he slowed his pace to allow the Scullys get further ahead so they wouldn't be overheard. He saw Scully take John's arm and turn him around, whisper something to him, and then they both resumed walking with John's family.

"So what's the matter?" Monica asked him.

"I just wanted to ask you something," he said, deliberately keeping his tone light and casual.

"Does this start with an 'are you all right'?" she asked. Her tone was strong and confident again; the depressed Monica he had witnessed minutes before in the car, during the car ride, and crying on couch in John's living room had completely evaporated. But though he was glad for her strength, he was very aware of how unstable her emotions were. Already since they had arrived in DC he had witnessed happiness, depression, grief, exhaustion and fury. The analytical side of his mind told him this was totally normal; she was following all the textbooks in this regard. But it still worried him to see her like this. She was like a ball rolling around a pool table, bouncing off the walls and skirting the edges of six different pockets of raw emotion all in the space of seconds.

He smiled. "I was going for 'are you sure you're okay?'"

She didn't return his smile and paused as she considered his question.

"Well I can't pretend I'm having a great time, but I'm sure we'll manage," she said bravely.

He didn't respond. He was sure they would, and was glad she wasn't trying to lie to him. They walked in silence for a bit. Mulder watched the Scullys and the Doggetts in front of them, all walking together. They were getting near the other end of the park now, and would soon have to cross the intersection and walk the final block to the church. It wasn't visible yet, and he was glad, a little nervous of what scene would be waiting for them.

"There's something else on your mind."

Mulder glanced sideways at her. She had a knowing expression, and was patiently waiting for the rest of his thoughts to slide down to his vocal cords.

"Yeah, there is something else," he finally admitted. "I'd like to ask you a personal question, if you're up for it."

"Sure," she said, smiling. "Providing it's something I can answer in the space of two blocks."

They were nearing the edge of the gardens now and he stopped walking, wanting to ask it before they emerged back into the crowded concrete jungle. He took her arm to slow her, and then turned so they were facing each other. As her soft brown eyes and calm expression waited for him to spill it, he felt suddenly nervous, and drew a deep breath. Then a gust of wind blew around the hem of Charlie's trench coat, Monica hugged Christi's coat closer around herself, her hands jammed in the pockets, and Mulder told himself firmly to just spit it out, because Christi was right that Monica was in no condition to be standing around in the freezing wind and Scully would probably kick his ass if he kept her there too long. He knew the same applied to John and Scully, who he could see out of the corner of his eye had stopped with their families under the last big tree in the corner of the park, and were waiting patiently for them.

"It's your parents," he said. "I just can't help wondering how your relationship's coping under all this. Have you had a chance to open up to them yet? Have you talked about any of the things we went through, either during our stay at the hospital, or the night you spent at your apartment?"

The relaxed look in her eyes slowly morphed into discomfort as he completed the sentence.

"I wasn't exactly in a mood for talking that night at my apartment," she confessed. "Mostly they talked to me."

"What about?" he pressed gently. He knew he was prying a little, but was convinced the circumstances justified it, if the answer was as he suspected.

"About the old days," she said. "Memories from my childhood, mostly. Times we spent together when I was still living in Mexico."

It was exactly as Mulder had feared, and he felt the lead weight settle back in his heart.

"Look," she said, meeting his eyes seriously. "I know what you're thinking. But it's been a help. It's a comfort to be able to get out of my own head for a while, have something else to focus on."

He understood that, but there was also another side to it. He knew the longer she put it off, the harder it would become, and the greater the risk of her developing post-traumatic stress. And there was something else, too...

"Have they asked you about it?"

"They're not people for deep and meaningfuls," she said. "In fact I think it'd be a danger to broach the subject at all."

"Why's that?"

She hesitated. She sighed slightly, and her eyes strayed to the side, glancing at the waiting John, Scully, and their families. Mulder glanced there too and Scully met his eyes. She looked worried. Her mother had her arm around her again, was rubbing her back and talking in her ear, plainly trying to relax her.

"Because they're against this," Monica said softly. She turned her eyes back to him.

Mulder felt lost. "Against this?"

"The way we're handling it," she clarified. "I think they think I'm the one who's committing suicide."

And suddenly, Mulder saw a very clear picture of what was going on. Her parents were in complete denial over their mental states and the impact of what they had been through. The events on the mountain had terrified them and they had flown to Vancouver to cling to her furiously, having snatched her back from death, and not ever wanting to let her out of their arms again. They had glued themselves to her, to her bedside, and the steady stream of Spanish Mulder had heard from behind her curtain, stretching long into the night, had been a shock reaction in which they had flung themselves back into their pasts, reliving everything they thought they had lost forever. They had realised what it meant to them, what she meant to them, and were now keen on not letting her go a second time. They realised deep down that she had been through something extremely painful, but were unable to even bring themselves to ask about it, to listen to Monica talking about it, now matter how much it could help her. Their idea of healing Monica was in rediscovering a past in which their worries had been trivial, happiness in abundance, and any concerns were killed off by a long, hot, Mexican sunset with a drink in one hand and a friend in the other - not by attending four funerals in four days and completely embedding herself in the misery.

Overwhelmed with pity, Mulder stepped forward and took Monica into his arms. Her arms slipped around his waist and he held her close. He rocked her from side to side for a few seconds and then they parted.

"You lean on us, okay?" he said. "We understand, and we'll get you through."

She nodded. Her eyes were moist, but a great weight seemed to have lifted from her shoulders.

Then, without another word, Mulder took her hand and began to walk them back to their waiting friends. As he did - as he met both Scully and John's worried eyes and threw them a reassuring wink - he thought over her words of it being a help to be distracted from the pain. He knew that now, that would be a survival essential for her making it through Follmer's funeral. Not only to keep her sanity, but to keep her thoughts away from the memories long enough that she would not vomit all over the floor of the church. So he dug deep within himself for some strength, searched for his sense of humour, determined to keep up a steady stream of distracting talk until they were walking back through the park again on their way home and the cameras were far behind them.

XXX

The scene outside St Paul's Cathedral was one of pandemonium. As they walked up the last slope, past tall, grey office blocks, John's thoughts _had _been on what he'd witnessed in the park. He had been baffled by Mulder's spontaneous need to pull Monica aside. He thought it was bound to be an enquiry as to whether she could handle the funeral, and he honestly couldn't blame Mulder for wanting to ask, but he thought too that there must have been something else, judging from the hesitance he had seen on Mulder's face, and the forlorn expression on Monica's after he'd asked whatever it was. Then he had seen Mulder hug her, seen Monica lean into the hug, and that had worried him even more, because he had never seen Mulder so worried over anyone except Scully, and Mulder was not one for naturally showing affection, especially in public.

"What's he askin' her?" he'd asked Scully, who was watching them while trying not to be caught watching at the same time.

"I have no idea," she'd said, looking just as puzzled as he felt himself.

Seconds later, Mulder and Monica were both back with them and they had resumed their walk up the hill, covering the last small distance to the church. But his worry didn't ease with their return, instead it only intensified. He'd automatically moved toward Monica when she joined them, slipped his arm back around her shoulders, but he'd felt her quivering under his touch, and when he tried to catch her eyes she looked away toward the ground.

"You okay?" he'd asked her.

"Yeah," she'd said, brushing off his concern. Then she saw the concern on everyone's faces, her expression strengthened, and she said, "Let's go."

Doggett glanced around, searching for reassurance that someone else found all this as bizarre as he did. His eyes caught Scully's, whose mother still had an arm around her and was nudging her to start walking again, and felt slightly comforted by the look of worry in her eyes.

He blankly stared as Mulder, Monica and the Scullys all began walking again.

"You makin' sense of this?" he asked Christi, whose gentle hand was resting on his shoulder, as it had been the entire time he'd been watching Mulder and Monica talk.

"Later, John," she said, tugging on his arm to get him walking. "C'mon."

He walked with Christi up the hill, his parents a step behind him. He had the strong feeling Christi knew a lot more about what had happened than he did, though how she knew he had no idea. He only knew that Mulder and Monica were walking in front him, and that a strange sense of loss was engulfing him. Guiltily, he realised that _he _wanted to be the one walking with Monica, soothing her with his arm around her, whispering reassurances in her ear. Then he immediately hated himself for thinking it. He had no right to expect her to walk with him, and certainly no case for being jealous of Mulder. After all, Scully, who was leading their pack between Bill and her mother, didn't seem bothered by Mulder wanting to walk with Monica, and suddenly his own irrational jealousy felt ridiculous and immature. He did not know what had been said between his two friends, and he had to trust that Mulder, as one of the Bureau's top psychologists, knew what he was doing.

And then he saw the cameras, heard the shouts, saw a bustling crowd of black suits outside the ancient cathedral - and all analysis of the Mulder and Monica phenomenon ceased.

"Stay close," his mother said, emerging on his left and taking his arm firmly in her hand. On his right, Christi's soft hand slipped into his and her posture straightened. He felt his father pat him on the back from behind.

It all happened at once. The shouting increased like someone had broken the volume knob off the stereo, and the media swarmed around them from all sides. Flashes blinded his eyes, cameras jogged alongside them, held to the eyes of casually-dressed reporters. He glanced up ahead, searching automatically for Scully, who had had such a disastrous encounter with them the day before, and saw a rigid back crowned with red hair hurrying up the three steps to the open front doors of the cathedral, with all the appearance of there being something drastically urgent inside that needed her immediate analysis. She was still under the arms of both Bill and her mother, with Charlie and Tara following close behind, and they dodged a few gathered groups of gawking FBI agents and dashed inside, where the cameras were not allowed to pursue them.

He deliberately kept his gaze straight ahead, ignoring the reporters on either side of him, and so his eyes next fell back to Monica. Her hand was still being held by Mulder, and both their hands were white from the pressure they were applying to each other. As he watched, Mulder leaned his head towards her and mumbled something in her ear, and she nodded to him, acknowledging whatever he said. Then she glanced quickly over her shoulder at him, checking his position and state of mind, but there was no opportunity to share comforting conversation while in the company of dozens of cameras, and their eyes only met for the briefest moment before she turned back to look where she was walking. Mulder increased the pace, they kept their heads bowed slightly to fend off the harassment, and then they too sidestepped two young male agents and ducked into the church.

Doggett was there before he knew it. His mother let go of him so they could all fit through the doorway, and the shouts faded as they covered the few feet to where the arching foyer gave way to the huge hall inside. He took a few steps with Christi, but stopped to join the queue crowding for a paper booklet that outlined the funeral programme, given out by a middle-aged woman whose badge told him she was Joan Withers of "White Rose Funerals", and then to greet the Catholic priest, who was handing them maroon prayer books. The priest was finishing greeting the Scullys, and Charlie was smiling and giving the man a strong handshake. Dana, her mother and Bill were a few steps ahead, having already gone through, and he was pleased when Scully didn't disappear, but turned around and waited for them to catch up with her.

"John!" Christi's voice said, firmly but softly.

He looked up. Her tone was as if it was the hundredth time she'd said it. And sure enough, her eyes were narrowed at him like he'd just fainted or had a seizure.

"Did you say somethin'?" he asked dumbly.

She almost smiled. "Just a status check. You doing okay?"

He felt like giving her a blunt "fucking brilliant", but his parents were behind them and he never swore in front of his parents, although Christi was open to it. He'd heard her slip a few choice words in her time, for the right occasions. The loss of Luke had been one of them.

"Yeah I'm okay," he said, giving her a reassuring nod.

Monica turned around with Mulder, as though he'd said the exact opposite.

"How 'bout you?" he asked, looking to Monica. He took in the way her eyes were dry again, her posture back to that of the confident Agent Monica Reyes, and her hand was no longer gripping Mulder's as though the concrete beneath her was going to open up and have her for lunch, and thought she looked much better. Of course, that was so far, and it was so easy for it to swing around in the space of a blink.

"I'm good," she said, nodding back at him.

That was all she had a chance to say as she and Mulder had reached the front of the queue and Joan Withers greeted Mulder.

"Agent Mulder," she said, holding out a yellow programme to him. It had the words "Bradford Follmer" printed on the front with an illustration of a flower and then a quote that was too small for Doggett to read from such a distance.

Joan didn't give the standard smile to Mulder as John had expected. Her eyes were filled with sympathy and kindness.

"This outlines the service today," she said, as Mulder took the programme. "We've reserved the first two rows on the left for you," she added, looking around to them all.

"Thank you," Mulder said.

"We're so sorry," she said, as Monica took her programme.

Monica didn't reply. She looked like she wanted to, but couldn't find any words, and after a short hesitation moved on to shake the hand of the priest, and then join Mulder and the Scullys.

A moment later John followed her. He stuffed the programme into his pocket without reading it, and then looked around, taking in his surroundings. He had never been to the church before, but it was stunning, as far as churches went in impressing him. It had colourful stained glass windows of biblical scenes and symbolic figures, there were carved wooden statues and crosses around the walls, the altar at the front was the fanciest he'd ever seen, and the floor and pews were made of such highly polished wood that he could practically see his reflection in them. The pews were in two long columns, and were already half-filled with guests, most of whom were formally dressed, many of whom he recognised as fellow FBI agents, and some politicians as Jana Cassidy had warned them there would be. There were also hundreds of people milling around in the aisles, chatting and shaking hands. Up the front above the altar was a modern projection screen, where a photo of Follmer as a child was smiling down on them all. Doggett saw that he hadn't been a bad looking kid, and part of him found it hard to believe that the happy child had grown up into someone whose smile he had never seen.

His parents were the last to join their group and they all stood around in a circle, taking in the atmosphere.

Monica's eyes were searching the masses for her parents.

"They're over in the far corner," Scully said, reading Monica's face. She pointed to them, and Doggett followed her eyes to see Mr and Mrs Reyes in delighted conversation with a grey-haired, ageing politician. All three were smiling, laughing as though a great joke had just been told.

John narrowed his eyes, not believing what he was seeing. "Isn't that Senator Costello?"

"Yeah," Monica said, "it is."

Monica didn't look impressed or thrilled at all. John couldn't be sure why, but he knew he himself thought it downright rude that her parents were charming a politician instead of being with Monica. He could force himself to understand that they might have got lost in locating the car park they had arranged to meet in, and called Monica to meet at the church instead. He could stretch his imagination that far. But as to why they hadn't met her out the front, or were appearing to not even be looking out for her, he couldn't explain.

"I'd better go meet them," Monica said, and with an apologetic smile, sighed and left their company.

Bill Scully held himself together until Monica was halfway up the aisle and out of earshot, and then burst out with, "What the hell do they think this is? A business opportunity?"

No one looked impressed, and no one bothered to answer him. He could feel waves of anger radiating off Christi beside him, however good she was at concealing it. Margaret Scully was watching Monica go with a frown on her face. Scully's eyes were also following her, but with a look of dread.

Mulder shifted from one foot to the other and said, "I'm going to go with her."

He made to leave, but Scully turned back as he spoke.

"Mulder, no," she said, her voice low but firm.

He turned back, gave a questioning look.

Scully opened her mouth, but waited as someone walked close past them. When they were clear again, she said softly, so only the immediate group of them could hear, "Tell us what's going on."

Mulder looked awkward.

"What'd she tell you?" John pressed, backing up the strong look Scully was giving him.

"She said they haven't asked her a single thing about what happened to us, nor given her the opportunity to talk to them about it. They've been giving her non-stop verbal lullabies of the good old days back in Mexico – which she insists are a comfort to hear – and she hinted she wouldn't dare broach the subject anyway because they're not supportive of what we're doing."

"What do you mean 'what we're doing'?" John asked, angry.

"Attending the funerals," Mulder said.

"But he was her friend," Scully said, with mingled surprise and outrage. "How can they object to that?"

"I believe her exact words were, 'I think they think I'm the one who's committing suicide'."

"Because she's facing her pain?" Tara said. "That's what the doctor said you needed."

"I agree," Mulder said, tone calm. "But unfortunately Laurel and Hardy over there think differently. If they don't try to shift her back to Mexico, marry her off to a wealthy suitor and get her pregnant with triplets all within the next week I'm going to be very surprised."

Scully sighed. She looked like her lungs were in a painful vacuum.

"Actually," Christi said, with sudden gentleness, "they've already tried."

Everyone looked around her. John did too. He had totally forgotten she spoke near-fluent Spanish, had learned it in College and still used it frequently in her job as a teacher.

"You speak Spanish?" Scully asked.

Christi nodded. "They asked her to go back to Mexico with them when they first saw her at the hospital. She said no because she wants to stay with you."

Despite the anger coursing through him, a small circle of warmth appeared in Doggett's heart. He raised his eyes, searching out for Monica and her parents. She had found them, and they had stopped their business meeting with the politician and were giving her a strangling embrace, beaming as they kissed her. Monica was smiling too, but to him it looked forced.

"For God's sake, John," Christi said, putting a hand to his back and pushing him forward. "Go rescue her."

XXX

In the end all three of them went. John started to walk, and had only gone a few steps before he was flanked by Mulder and Scully. He saw a funeral director approach their families and begin to lead them to the front of the church to their reserved seats, and the three of them cut around the right column of pews, trying hard to ignore the curious stares they were attracting.

"Now I know how pop stars feel," Mulder muttered to them.

"At least they're admired for a legitimate reason," Scully said, "not merely for having seen someone die."

Her eyes were staring straight ahead, locked onto Monica, and she was thoroughly trying to ignore the crowds of agents and politicians that they wove around on their rescue mission.

"At least they _chose_ the life," Doggett pointed out. "They didn't fall into it like us."

The conversation would have continued, but Monica spotted them over her mother's shoulder, and smiled widely. Her parents turned around to see what had snatched her attention away from them, and immediately beamed at the sight of them and John found Mr Reyes reaching out to shake his hand, as though they were just meeting and hadn't spent the last few days in each other's company.

"John!" he said, wringing his hand enthusiastically.

"Mr Reyes," John answered politely. "You had us a little worried. You get lost or somethin'?"

"A little wrong turn," Monica's mother said, smiling it off. "We've seen a lot of cities, but it's our first time to Washington."

"Shame it's not under better circumstances," Mulder said, shaking Mr Reyes' hand as it was offered to him.

"Well a wise man – or woman," he added, glancing at Monica, "will always make the best of even the saddest of situations. We won't let the circumstances of our visit hold back our respect for this powerful city you live in."

John saw Scully shifting impatiently as he spoke and he knew her opinion of Monica's parents was in freefall, much like his own.

John himself stepped sideways to stand with Monica and automatically slipped his arm back around her shoulders. She had been staring into space, lost in thought, but his action snapped her attention back and she gave him a small smile. He felt her arm slip around his waist and squeeze gently.

"Here, come over here," Mrs Reyes said, "there's someone you have to meet."

"Actually," Scully said, cutting in, "we were just thinking we'd go and sit down."

Mr and Mrs Reyes both stopped mid-flight, momentarily wrong-footed in their social plans.

"We're still a little weak-kneed," Monica explained.

"Of course," Mrs Reyes said, flocking to her side in an instant and squeezing Monica's free hand. "We know you're not well. You go rest."

"Go sit down," Mr Reyes said, and kissed Monica swiftly on the cheek. "We'll be over in a second."

"Thanks," Monica said.

John wasted no time in turning her away and began to walk her up to the front of the column of seats, aiming to walk around to the other column on the left where their families were standing and talking with Jana Cassidy and the funeral director who had shown them to their reserved seats. As they walked, and Scully and Mulder stayed near to Monica's other side, John felt Monica's strength shake again; her shoulders slumped with a weary sigh and her head fell slightly forward.

"Thank you," Monica said softly, aiming it specifically at Scully.

"You're very welcome," Scully replied.

John waited a beat and then said, "Are you okay? You're lookin' faint again."

It was true: she was pale, looked unsteady on her feet, and the arm that had been grasping his waist had slackened.

But she did not answer. They had reached the front of the column of wooden pews and her eyes had caught those of the people sitting in the first row: Brad Follmer's family.

Monica stopped walking. John didn't want her to. He wanted to sit her down and let her get her colour back before they got into the thick of the funeral service, but he recognised the look in her eye and knew she wouldn't be stopped on this one. He knew they would have to face the Follmers sometime, and were lucky in some regard that they had made it this far without having to do it, and as Follmer's tall, white-haired mother and father stood up to meet them, along with his pretty sister Jessica and brother-in-law Patrick, he knew the moment had come whether he liked it or not.

"I'm Peter Follmer," the white-haired man said. "I was his father. This is my wife Carla, my daughter Jessica, and my son-in-law Patrick." He paused awkwardly. John didn't bother to introduce themselves, as they all knew it wasn't necessary.

"We're pleased to meet you," John said automatically. It was a lie.

There was another awkward pause.

"We want to thank you for coming today," Carla Follmer said. "I think we can appreciate how difficult it is for you to be here right now."

She looked very uneasy. To John, it was as if she was still in shock and the fact her son had died was yet to sink in. She looked shaky, like the scene in her eyes was that of a dream or a hallucination, not the reality: that her son had committed suicide and that their last contact had been the parting after a fight a few years ago, and that now she was attending his funeral without having ever made up.

"Did the FBI tell you what happened?" Mulder asked gently, in a low voice so as to prevent them having as many eavesdroppers as possible.

There were painful nods from all four of Follmer's relatives.

Jessica looked at Monica with kind eyes. "They told us that you talked him out of leaving, that you tried to cheer him up. I want to thank you with all my heart for trying."

"I'm sorry it wasn't enough," Monica said sadly. "I didn't realise…"

She broke off, the words catching in her throat and tears appearing in her eyes. John tightened his arm around her shoulders.

"We're so sorry we didn't do more," Scully said sincerely. "We should've seen it."

Carla looked at them in disbelief. "It wasn't your fault. If anyone's to blame I think it's us."

She shared a sad glance with her husband, giving John a split-second insight into how hard things had been for the Follmer family over the last few years. Monica had told them after Follmer died that he hadn't talked to his parents in over two years after he had jumped to the defence of his sister and supported her marriage to Patrick. The family had split. This was a very painful family reunion – healing over the ashes of one of their members.

"I'm aware things were … strained … the last few years," Monica said, "but I want you to know there's no doubt in my mind that he loved you. When we had that last conversation, he told me what happened, and I saw in his eyes how much he missed you all. He loved you very much."

"I wish he knew we loved _him_," Peter Follmer said.

"I'm sure he did," John said. His heart was tearing up watching the gutted family in front of him.

"If he did he would've come back," Carla said sadly. "He would never have taken out that gun."

John's heart continued to break. He searched around frantically for something he could say to make these people feel better, but his mind was coming up blank. His own vision became blurry with unshed sympathy, and under his protective arm he felt Monica quiver again. She shifted her feet, and his eyes immediately found hers. A tear rolled down from one of her eyes.

"He knew you loved him," Scully said softly. "But the forces at work up there … they were just far greater than you could ever imagine."

XXX

Scully knelt down in front of Monica's knees. On one side of her sat John, and on the other Mrs Reyes, who had engaged Monica in a conversation in Spanish, and made Scully wish that Spanish had been among the many things she'd studied at College. It gave her the feeling of wanting to carry around a dictionary, because it was so hard to look out for Monica when she had no idea what the two of them were saying to each other. And she didn't trust Mrs Reyes one iota.

She exchanged the briefest of looks with John - neither of them daring to make it too obvious - but it was enough to see that he felt as worried as she did. They had just sat Monica down and she was still pale. During their conversation with the Follmers, Scully had watched her become increasingly white-faced and teary until she hadn't been able to stand it any longer and had promptly excused them. Her and John had forcibly escorted Monica to the front row pew that had been reserved for them, and now she was leaning over as if she was going to either faint or cry, her head in her hands as her mother hugged her from the side and whispered frantic Spanish into her ear.

But that was only half of it. She was also nervous about Mulder now, who was talking with the Follmers alone, possibly explaining the reasoning behind their abrupt departure, or handing them some well-placed words of comfort. But in this business it was a danger for anyone to be alone, and however skilled he was as a psychologist Scully didn't like it. So she awkwardly shared her worried glances between Monica, John and Mulder, knowing they all needed her but could only be in one place.

Her mother arrived, kneeling down a little awkwardly with her ageing knees.

"Dana, you okay?" she asked.

She felt her mother's arm slip lovingly around her waist.

"Yeah," she said, wrenching her gaze from Mulder and replanting it back on Monica's lowered head.

But her mother wasn't fooled, and immediately her head spun around in the direction Scully had been looking in previously and made contact with Mulder and the Follmers.

Her smile faded. "I'll get him."

Without another word, her mother stood up, the comforting arm disappeared from her waist, and she made her way over to the crowd. Scully couldn't help watching them as her mother confidently approached, a smile springing to her lips. Her mother took Mulder's elbow, said something to the Follmers, and Mulder's eyes went over the top of her head and made contact with Scully's own, as though Scully had asked her mother to go fetch him instead of her mother just reading her mind with her usual uncanny accuracy.

Scully looked away. She knew her mother's insistently caring nature would have him back in no time. Mulder could not say no to the force of her mother.

"Monica, have some water," Christi said, crouching down beside Scully and pushing a bottle of water into Monica's hands.

Monica took the bottle in her right hand, but made no move to screw the top off.

"I'm all right," Monica said. She emerged from her hands and sat up a little straighter, but still leaning forward.

Christi stared at her.

After a moment she said, "Seeing as we're in public I'm going to let you have that one."

Scully understood why Christi was annoyed. They all knew very well that Monica was far from being all right. She had thrown up in Christi's presence several times now, was wearing her coat to keep from shivering, and still she insisted she was fine. It was exasperating to watch. But like Christi, she thought it wasn't quite the place to contradict her.

"Indulge us anyway," Scully said, putting a hand on Monica' knee.

Monica's tell-all eyes met her own and Scully held them firmly. Then Monica sighed, giving in, but Mrs Reyes had already reached forward and was unscrewing the lid.

"If you were in the snow now you'd blend right in," her mother said, switching to English. "You're white."

Mrs Reyes lifted the bottle to Monica's lips as though feeding a toddler. Scully saw a flicker of irritation show in Monica's eyes, and she took the bottle from her mother's hand, holding it herself. She took a few mouthfuls and swallowed them, then lowered the bottle back to her knees.

Christi reached up and gently put her hand over Monica's.

"You remember, you step out if you need to," she said, giving her hand a quick squeeze. "If it becomes too hard ..."

She looked to both Mrs Reyes and John, looking for support.

"We won't be goin' for any heroics," John assured her. He looked like he wanted to put his arm around her again, but the territory was still being occupied by the tight grip of Monica's mother and he slipped a hand onto her leg instead, just above where Scully had her own on Monica's knee.

"You don't need to worry," Mrs Reyes said lovingly, stroking her daughter's back. "We won't be letting anything happen to our Monica."

Scully knew the 'we' meant her and her husband, who was sitting next to her. She also felt an irrational wave of anger at the woman's words.

"Well just in case," Anne said, leaning across from her position next to John, "we've been told the toilets are in the little corridor at the back, and there's a kitchen there too where you can get some more water if you feel faint."

Monica nodded mutely. She looked worse than ever.

Then suddenly the music started. Scully looked behind her, back to the stage and saw an organ was being played. The priest was on the steps leading to the stage, having a last minute word with someone from the church.

"They're going to start," Christi said. "We'd better sit down."

She squeezed Monica's hand one last time and stood up.

"There should be some tissues in the pocket of my coat," she said. "Use all you need."

Monica raised her head slowly from her shocked position. She looked touched by Christi's kindness, and her eyes were no longer embarrassed and trying to deflect her concern.

"Thank you," she said. She then realised she was still holding the bottle of water and held it out for her.

"Keep it," Christi said, smiling at her. "We brought it for you."

With that, Christi left. She walked around Scully and went to sit down next to her parents. She picked up the programme and prayer book she had left on the seat and put them in her lap. She had a very unsure look on her face, like she knew they were heading for disaster but was aware she was not in a position to stop it from happening.

Scully then became aware that she, too, should be standing up and leaving. Her family - all except her mother - were seated in the second pew, talking softly amongst themselves. But she did not want to join them. Even that short distance of a few feet from John and Monica was miles too far, especially when Monica looked so ill and on the verge of a breakdown. Her feet remained where they were.

"Come on, Scully," Mulder's voice suddenly said.

Two hands reached down and took her under her arms, urging her gently to her feet. One was Mulder's, the other her mother's. Her mother's protective arm immediately fell across her shoulders, but it was incredibly gentle, like her mother thought she was so fragile she would break from the slightest pressure.

"You gonna be okay?" John asked her, his eyes narrowed slightly.

"Yeah," Scully said. She searched inside herself for her strength to leave these people, but it was dodging the hand trying to catch it.

Mulder's strong hand then grasped hers. At the same time he leaned down over Monica, putting an arm around her shoulders in a one-arm hug.

"Remember the good times," he said softly. "A funeral is a celebration of a person's life. It's for remembering all the times they put a smile on your face, not for remembering their mistakes."

Monica's eyes widened slightly as he said "all the times they put a smile on your face". Scully saw she had not missed Mulder's real meaning, though Mulder had said it subtly enough that their families completely missed it.

Mulder pulled away and stepped back.

Scully glanced over her shoulder and saw the priest approaching his altar.

She let go of Mulder's hand, slipped out from under her mother's arm, and leaned in to hug Monica.

"Just stargaze, Monica," she whispered.

In the position of hugging her, Scully saw the rest of the church had filled. Every seat (except the reserved one awaiting themselves) was packed. There were even people standing around the walls. Many of the faces immediately in front of her were watching her curiously, enjoying the drama.

Scully pulled back, kissed Monica quickly on the cheek. Then, aware she had little time, she shifted a step to hug John, too.

"Will you be okay?" he asked her, concern thick in his voice as his firm hand patted her back through her mother's coat.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said, pulling away.

Her eyes found Monica again: her pale skin, tear-filled eyes, nervous look.

"Come on, Dana," her mother said urgently, putting an arm around her again. "We'll sit right behind them. You'll be within reach."

Her eyes fell on the crowd again. So many faces were looking at her - over half the people in the church. Then she realised, with horror, that the faces were blurry, that she herself had tears in her eyes. The whole damn church was watching her cry.

"Scully, come on," Mulder said, hand back in hers. "We can do this."

Scully needed no more encouragement and turned immediately. She wanted to run, to flee the church completely and get away from the staring, the gawking, the feeling that she was a circus freak that was going to land on the front page of the newspaper for daring to cry. Her mother's arm slipped to grip her hand tightly, leading her away, and Scully was left with no choice but to follow. She let her mother lead her away from the concerned looks of John and Monica, past the sudden alarm on Christi's, then turn the end corner of the pew to walk into the second one, where she squeezed past Charlie, Bill and Tara, to the empty section where her mother walked her to sit directly behind John and Monica. She sat down on the hard wooden seat, her mother's arm straightaway settling around her shoulders on the back of the pew. Mulder sat next to her, resting their joined hands on her thigh, and Tara shifted up on his other side, Bill and Charlie immediately scooting along too.

She hadn't expected this. Christ, she thought, she was in tears before the funeral had even begun. And she hadn't even _liked _Follmer. As John had aptly put it, she had despised him. She had been through many funerals of people who had meant much, _much_ more to her and still remained relatively composed. Melissa, Emily, her father, even Mulder … So why was she crying now? Where was her strength that had pulled her through so many painful events in the past? Why did she suddenly feel gutted and unhinged, separated from the world? Were the doctors and their families right that they were mentally ill? Maybe she was sicker than she'd thought. Maybe she wasn't handling it. Maybe their families had been right, seen it better than any of them had themselves. Maybe they did need them.

The organ ceased playing. The priest began to talk.

XXX

It was a full Catholic funeral, which bewildered Scully slightly because she hadn't been aware that Follmer had been Catholic, and found it hard to imagine that he was. She found herself thinking that maybe he had just been a lapsed Catholic, something inherited but unwanted. Or it could have merely been the fact that his parents were unfamiliar with DC and had simply chosen the biggest and most decorative church in the city, and it had happened to be Catholic. She made a mental note to ask Monica later – assuming Monica made it through intact.

Oddly, the Catholic nature of the funeral had a calming effect on her. It was familiar territory again, a world of routines that was delightfully easy to slip back into, and when the priest began talking and reciting verses from the Psalms, she felt her panicked nerves begin to relax and her sanity return from whatever pit it had been hiding in. Of course, her mother's hand that was gently rubbing and squeezing her shoulder also helped, as did Mulder's stroking of her thumb and palm with his strong, restless fingers.

So slowly, she relaxed, and it became fairly simple. She recited the Lord's Prayer with her family, repeated bible verses after the priest, said "Amen". She listened to the eulogy given by Jessica – Follmer's sister – and actually found it enjoyable to listen to, learning about the Brad Follmer that had existed behind the FBI badge, the side of him she had never seen. Jessica was a natural speaker, wasn't fazed by the enormity of the crowd, and was together enough to laugh through her tears at the anecdotes she told of them growing up as kids, and to smile at the memories.

The second eulogy was given by AD Jana Cassidy, on behalf of the FBI. It balanced the account given by Jessica to give what was a complete picture of Follmer's life: his home life, his work life. It was a tribute to Brad Follmer's contribution to the FBI, to the fact that the work he did should have continued for many years to come. It was a thank you. It was also not as sickening to listen to as Scully would have expected, had she actually bothered to read the programme beforehand and known it was coming. It showed AD Cassidy's skill that she held it back just enough, and gave enough anecdotal details and quotes from various people who had known him to give it all a human touch and not sound like a recruitment drive. The quotes also gave evidence that the speech was a joint effort by many people in the FBI, and that Jana Cassidy had merely been chosen to deliver it. Scully knew she had fallen into the role of being the FBI's representative when talking to the media and the public, and the way she read the speech showed why: because she had the tact, the unique mix of dignity and humanity, the show of carefully placed compassion. Scully couldn't quite imagine Kersh or the director himself pulling it off anywhere near as well.

In fact, it all went well until they were getting near the end. She knew it was scheduled to go for an hour, and they were about two-thirds of the way through when it became suddenly painful. Scully hadn't expected to feature in any of the speeches herself, and kicked herself later for not realising that it would happen. At the end of AD Cassidy's speech, when Scully was well into the stride of easy listening and had long calmed down, there came an embarrassing tribute to themselves that made Scully squirm in her seat, and Mulder shift uncomfortably next to her. She could not remember the exact words. She could remember AD Cassidy actually surprising her by leading the whole church into prayer, bowing the heads of hundreds of FBI agents who didn't have a drop of religion in their blood. But it happened. Jana Cassidy said, "Let's pray", and they all did. It was a long prayer dedicated to herself, Mulder, Reyes and Doggett, and was a salute to their "extraordinary courage", "display of heart", and "incredible strength". But more than that, it quickly became a request for the Lord to look after them, to take care of them the way they had taken care of each other and so many others. It was a request for them to get well again, and recognition that they weren't and couldn't be expected to be. Jana actually thanked them on behalf of the FBI and Follmer's family for their "selflessness" in coming along to the funeral, and by the end of it, Scully's emotions had fallen back into disarray. She felt comforted slightly that Mulder's had too. His stroking of her hand had stopped, and his other arm was being held by Tara, who was apparently holding him sane. Both of them had kept their eyes open when they realised where the prayer was going. She glanced into his eyes and saw tears there and held his hand tighter. Then a loud "Amen" had echoed around the church, and everyone's eyes opened.

Scully had been watching the backs of John and Monica throughout the entire thing. Mrs Reyes' arm had remained around her daughter's shoulders, her hand sometimes rubbing gently or squeezing to reassure her she wasn't alone. On one or two occasions, John had leaned in to whisper something in Monica's ear, and from the way they had turned their heads toward each other and Scully had been able to catch their side profiles, she saw they were both holding up really well. Monica had a wet face from silent crying, but she was controlling it, and hadn't looked like she was going to pass out.

But when Jana Cassidy gave her speech, that all changed. Scully was not sure what the trigger had been, but something in the lines of admiration had struck a nerve with her. Her head was bowed long before Jana Cassidy started the prayer, and John had leaned in and was talking to her in a concerned whisper. Mrs Reyes also leaned forward and in, and the hand that had been still on Monica's shoulder shifted suddenly to the centre of her back as Monica leaned completely forward toward her knees. Scully could see her back shaking, but with silent sobs or from sickness, she wasn't sure. Scully's instinct was to stand up and lean over the pew, or to rush around and kneel back in front of her, but her logical mind cut in just in time for her to stop herself. However much she wanted to go to her, she knew the worst thing she could do was to make a scene and draw everyone's attention to her. If it was nothing, if Monica just needed a second to pull herself together … the best she could do was nothing, to trust John.

But then it got worse. Monica's head did not come back up. Mrs Reyes was still rubbing her back and John was leaned right over her, talking in her ear, but it didn't look as though Monica was talking back to him. Then John's mother, Anne, leaned in from next to him, said something to John which Scully couldn't hear, and John sprung into action. He looked across to Mrs Reyes, and this time, Scully did hear what he said.

"Let's get her out of here."

He put a strong arm around Monica's waist and pulled her to her feet. Mrs Reyes also rose and supported Monica's other side. Monica immediately swayed. Scully's eyes widened when she saw how weak and faint she was. She looked like she was going to drop unconscious. Taking a side each, John and Monica's mother half-carried her to the aisle.

Scully exchanged a terrified look with Mulder, and was on her feet before her mother had a proper chance to hold her down.

"Don't make a scene, Dana," her mother said urgently, but Scully felt the adrenaline rushing through her, and threw aside appearances and dignity. She didn't need to pull Mulder with her – he had already pulled away gently from Tara and was standing up.

She felt the eyes of her family burning into her, and those of the Doggetts and Mr Reyes, who had all turned around at the commotion.

Mulder came to her rescue.

"She needs a doctor," he said, meaning Monica needed Scully.

And together they squeezed past Tara, Bill and Charlie, and chased Monica, John and Mrs Reyes into the back of the church, with the whole four hundred strong congregation all following them with their eyes as they went.

* * *

_Well after that I have to say I certainly won't be putting myself through that four times - LOL. My original plot outline had them attending just two of the planned four funerals, but I've eliminated one of my themes for the story and so it's been upgraded to two and a half. But I'm not doing four - bloody hell!_

_I admit I'm also getting bored of crying Monica and crying Scully. It is starting to feel a little sexist, although it's my intention to knock them all equally flat. So rest assured that when this Brad thing's over I'll be switching. DRR, anyone?_


	7. Chapter 7

Scully ignored the looks they were receiving and instead hurried after Monica, John and Mrs Reyes. They followed the aisle all the way to the back of the church, then walked past a group of White Rose funeral directors who were standing, silently watching the ceremony from the rear of the church, and then headed down the narrow corridor Anne had mentioned earlier. John and Mrs Reyes led Monica past a few closed doors before reaching the ladies', and John pushed the door open and held it wide as Mrs Reyes and Monica went through.

Scully saw him hesitate, his instincts holding him back from barging into the ladies' toilets, but as Scully reached the doorway and saw that no one else was inside, she grabbed John's elbow, said, "Come on", and both he and Mulder followed her in.

It was a small room, just two sinks and a mirror facing three cubicles. Monica was already in the first and they could hear her vomiting into the bowl, coughing and gagging to the very unattractive sound of her vomit plopping into the bowl like a waterfall. Mrs Reyes was squeezed into the cubicle with her daughter, but for once wasn't saying anything, and this left Scully, John and Mulder in a horrible moment of having nothing to do but wait.

Scully slowly took a few steps to the cubicle entrance, and watched, her heart breaking, as Monica continued to cough and choke. Her neatly tied hair was messed up and falling out, and Mrs Reyes had her arms hooked under Monica's armpits, holding her up over the bowl. Mulder, standing beside her, put his hand to his mouth. John, on her other side, shifted from foot to foot, restless and helpless with tears in his eyes.

Then the vomiting stopped and Monica slumped on the bowl. Mrs Reyes said something in Spanish that made Scully wish she'd grabbed Christi sometime during their hasty exit, but Monica was too weak to respond and let out a pathetic, beaten whimper.

"Dana ..." Monica whispered, voice almost inaudible in her struggle to catch her breath.

"I'm right here, Monica," Scully said calmly. She did not feel calm, but knew it was essential to relax Monica.

Another whimper in between her gasps for air. "John ..."

"We're all right here," John said.

Mrs Reyes looked around, as though just realising they weren't alone. Scully looked into her scared eyes and said, "Can you bring her out of there?"

Mrs Reyes nodded and leant down, talking to Monica in Spanish, trying to persuade her to move, but Monica shook her head and stayed put. Scully could see she was too weak to go anywhere. Mrs Reyes looked back to Scully, unsure what to do.

"Let me in," Scully said, and Mrs Reyes willingly stepped out of the cubicle. Scully took her place, kneeling awkwardly in the very limited space she had to work with. One of her shoulders brushed against the toilet paper dispenser, but she squeezed herself in and put a steadying arm around Monica's waist. Monica still had her face buried in her arms - which were resting on the rim of the toilet bowl - and Scully had to lean right in to try to see her face and judge her condition. Monica's whimpering and gasping had both ceased, and now she was silent, almost unconscious. Scully slipped her free hand under Monica's arms and up to her neck, feeling for her pulse. It was there, but it was very weak and irregular, barely beating against her fingers. Scully felt a new surge of panic soar up inside her, and pulled out her hand, putting it now on the edge of Monica's buried face. Her skin was burning.

Scully glanced behind her to John, Mulder and Mrs Reyes, knowing they would read the fear in her eyes, and then she sprung into action. First she reached up and flushed the toilet, then she moved behind Monica and put her arms around her, one across her chest and the other at the bottom of her ribs. As Scully tightened her grip and pulled her back, Monica's head lolled back against Scully's shoulder. Monica's eyes were closed as Scully dragged her backwards out of the cubicle and gently lowered her onto the cold, cream tiles of the floor. John and Mulder both fell to their knees to help.

The door swung open and Joan Withers, the funeral director, hurried in. She stopped at the sight that met her eyes.

Scully didn't wait. "Ms Withers, would you please be able to fetch our families?"

Joan Withers immediately sensed the seriousness of the situation and was gone in a flash. Scully turned back to Monica and hurriedly began to unbutton Christi's black coat.

"Monica, open your eyes," she said, injecting a firm tone into her voice.

Monica groaned quietly, and turned her head to the other side. Her eyes remained closed.

"Monica, open 'em," John ordered. He had his hand on the side of Monica's face and was touching her gently, but Monica was not responding.

"She's slipping, Scully ..." came Mulder's voice.

"Yeah, I know," Scully said quickly. She undid the last button on the coat. "Help me sit her up. We need to get the coat off."

Both John and Mulder helped Scully pull Monica into a sitting position, and Scully let the men support her while she herself slid the coat from Monica's arms and out from under her body. She threw it aside onto the tiles. Next she took Monica's leather jacket, and pulled that off as well, leaving Monica in just her white blouse.

"Lie her back down," Scully said, and Mulder and John did so carefully.

When Monica was back on the floor again, Scully reached for the buttons on Monica's blouse and undid a few of them at the top and bottom, but leaving two closed over Monica's breasts. She slid a hand onto Monica's flat stomach, checking her temperature. She was still burning.

"Monica, it's Scully," she said. "_Dana Scully_. I need you to open your eyes."

Monica's head lolled to the other side. She whimpered, but her eyes remained closed.

"_Open _your eyes, Monica," she said firmly.

But Monica didn't.

Scully turned her attention to Mrs Reyes, who was standing nearby, looking stricken and numb.

"Mrs Reyes, talk to her," Scully said desperately.

Mrs Reyes didn't move. Her eyes shifted to Scully's, and her mouth opened a little, but no words came out.

"Talk to her!" Mulder yelled.

But Mrs Reyes was in shock, and she was unable to say anything.

Scully looked back to Monica, casting her mind around frantically for something to say which would jar Monica back to full consciousness. She struggled. But then the door swung open again and their families hurried in, Anne, her own mother, and Christi leading the charge.

"Call the paramedics," Scully shot at them.

There was only a split second of hesitation before her mom snapped into action and pulled out her cell phone. They all moved closer into the room. Bill and Charlie edged into the doorway. Mr Reyes pushed through to the front of the crowd but stopped suddenly as he drew level with his wife, shocked at the sight of his daughter on the floor.

"Monica, it's gonna be okay," John said, fingers stroking the side of her face. "We got help comin' ..."

Monica's head twisted frantically to the side. She looked delirious. "No ..."

"You're not well," John said, his tone insisting. "You need help."

"No..." she breathed again. "No doctor ..."

"_Yes_, Monica," Scully said firmly.

"No," Monica said, voice becoming a little stronger. Her eyelids fluttered open for a split second, but closed again almost immediately.

"Monica, you're going to be fine," Scully said. "Preijers is in prison. No one's going to hurt you. I'll stay with you the whole time."

"No!"

And without warning, Monica shot up into a sitting position, eyes flying open in a delirious blind panic. She automatically reached behind her to her back, aiming for the holster she wore there. Scully's heart nearly exploded with panic when she realised what was happening, and she leapt forward, FBI training kicking in. She yanked Monica's arm out and pinned her flat against the floor, the offending wrist held above her head. John pinned her from the other side, holding her other wrist down, and while Scully and John held her hard to the floor, both half on top of her, Mulder reached under Monica's back and disarmed her, pulling out both the holster and the gun inside. He held it out to Christi, who was nearest, and she took it, eyes wide.

Monica went limp again, the fight draining out of her. Scully loosened her grip to just one hand and used the other to unzip her mother's coat. She reached inside to her own gun, which she had worn out of habit, and hastily slid it from the holster. She held it out to Charlie. Mulder and John followed suit, each taking out their weapons and handing them over to someone who could keep them out of Monica's reach.

Then Scully looked back down at Monica, pinned beneath them. Her eyes were now open, but she was staring into space, in shock, tears flowing from her eyes in perfect silence. Scully, with a rush of pity borne from perfect medical understanding of what had just happened, put a hand gently to Monica's sweaty forehead.

"Shh," she said softly. "It's all okay ..."

She continued to comfort her even as she heard John say, "How far away are the paramedics?"

Her mother answered, "One minute."

John nodded.

Scully, knowing Monica's panic attack had subsided, shifted her weight off Monica's body and back to the tiles. She let go of Monica's pinned wrist. Doubts were fast springing into her mind.

"She'll never handle it, Scully," Mulder said sadly.

Scully knew exactly what he meant. The wounds from Jack Preijers' attempt at murdering her were still to heal, and while they may have been able to force Monica into a hospital in Vancouver, back when she was still relatively strong, they would never get her into one now when she was half unconscious. It was one thing more than she could handle. But it put Scully into an awkward position. There was no doubt now that Monica needed help. She needed to be examined, and needed medication that Scully could not get for her. But if they would not get Monica into a hospital, then she could only think of one other thing to do ...

She turned to Anne.

"Anne, would you mind finding Jana Cassidy?"

She could tell Anne didn't understand, but left anyway, keen to help.

Mulder, however, did understand. His eyes met hers, and he nodded and said, "Let's see if Doctor Cheung makes house calls."

Scully knew that for this one - probably the most extraordinary case of survival Doctor Cheung would ever find - he would happily oblige.

She knew, too, that maybe now something could be done for Mr and Mrs Reyes.

**_Chapter Thirty-Three – After the Funeral_**

Scully closed the door of the church kitchen behind her, leaving Doctor Cheung alone with Monica. After the paramedics had arrived and helped her treat Monica, Bill had carried her to a couch in the spacious church kitchen and they made her comfortable there and kept her company until Doctor Cheung had arrived. It had not been a long wait, as the church was not at all far from the Hoover building, where he had been at the time. But it had been an anxious wait. Scully knew they had caused a stir even bigger than when she had fainted outside the Hoover building. They had left the front pews in the middle of a funeral, an ambulance had arrived with a crew of paramedics, and they had subsequently changed track and refused to let Monica be transported to a hospital. Thankfully, Joan Withers and her fellow funeral directors had risen to the occasion and recommended the kitchen couch for lying Monica upon, and they had also closed the door and fended off anyone from intruding. AD Cassidy had again been their saviour in preventing the media from invading the church, and though she knew they would get the story somehow, it made the immediate moment easier on themselves and Monica.

Monica had not said a word while they waited for Doctor Cheung to arrive. Scully, John and Mulder had all knelt nearby, trying to soothe her, but she had been too weak, sick, and ashamed to be persuaded into conversation and they chose not to harass her but filled in the time with lighthearted conversation, hoping that if they acted as if it was no big deal, then Monica would relax, too. When the doctor had arrived - and caused another stir among the media on his way in - everyone except herself and Mulder had left the room. They had stayed to explain the situation in medical and psychological terms, covering Monica's vomiting, her parents' distance and disturbing attitude, her panic attack, and her doctor phobia which had induced the panic attack. He listened carefully as they told the story, nodding with genuine interest, and then after answering his few questions, they had left him to examine her, both Scully and Mulder kissing Monica on the cheek first and reassuring her that she would be fine and they would be right outside. But it made no difference. She was weak, embarrassed, sleepy, and utterly beyond caring. Her spirit had left her, and Scully didn't even know if she heard the words of comfort she had spoken.

She paused outside the door, glancing left and right. On her left were the open doors which led outside into the rear courtyard of the church. She knew her family, and John's, were out there. She could hear them talking softly. On her right, beyond Mulder, AD Cassidy was hovering in the corridor, talking on her phone. Beyond AD Cassidy, Scully saw the back rows of the church and was glad that it was now relatively empty. The service had ended and everyone had left for the burial at Arlington. It was all wonderfully quiet again. She saw Mr and Mrs Reyes talking alone with a representative of the church at the end of the aisle. They were both still in shock, almost shaking. The arched church doors which led to the street had been closed, but four FBI agents were hovering there, perhaps, Scully thought, on Jana Cassidy's orders, to keep the media from trespassing.

Mulder's eyes, so tired and sad, were locked onto Monica's parents.

"Mulder?" she prompted.

"You go," he said, nodding at the door that led to the courtyard. "I want to talk to them."

Scully wanted to go meet up with everyone, but at the same time didn't want to leave Mulder to talk to them alone. It didn't feel right to dump such a painful task on him while she left to enjoy the comfort of her family.

He saw her hesitation. "Scully, it's okay."

"Mulder, I'm not going to leave you to do this alone."

He put a gentle hand on her shoulder and lowered his voice so they were not overheard by Jana Cassidy. "I appreciate that. I just want you to take a minute. I think it's important we slow down, catch our breath."

"And that's what you're doing?" she asked, unable to help herself.

But he didn't see the joke, and leaned in further, stepping into her personal space. The hand on her shoulder squeezed her through the rough fabric of her mother's coat.

"Go be with your family," he said, tears in his eyes. "I'll be out in a minute."

Scully felt herself giving in under the influence of his intense gaze, his eyes that were full of love and concern for her, and the strange look of sadness she was beginning to catch whenever he mentioned her family.

She nodded. "Okay then."

"Hey," he said, his hand slipping around to the back of her neck and into her hair. "We're going to make it. Right?"

She raised her eyes to his, but was prevented from answering as his mouth swooped down on hers. He kissed her softly, very slowly, and pulled away just as it began to relax her. His hand moved back to her shoulder and squeezed again.

He let go. "I'll be right out."

And with that, he turned around and walked off toward Monica's parents. As he passed Jana Cassidy, whose back was turned to her and was still talking on the phone, it suddenly occurred to her that they had just kissed in front of the FBI. Luckily, it appeared that Jana's conversation was too engrossing for her to have noticed.

XXX

Scully slowly approached the doors that led to the courtyard. It was a stone courtyard bordered with leafy green plants. Wooden seats were spread throughout, serving as a quiet place to sit for a while and get away from the city on the other side of the fence. But they were all wet now from the overnight snow and morning drizzle, and the grey sky was still unwelcoming and the air bitter.

She could hear her family, and John's, just around the corner from the doorway, talking under the long stone verandah that bordered the edge of the church. She saw them as she reached the doorway, and paused there, unnoticed. John and Christi were sitting side by side on a wooden seat against the wall. John had his head in his hands and Christi had her arm around him. Anne was pacing, her arms folded against her chest. Bill was talking softly with Jack. Tara was leaning against a pillar with Charlie, both watching Christi comfort John. Her mother was standing against the wall, looking sad and anxious - and was the only one who immediately saw Scully standing there.

"Dana," she said, hurrying over.

John's head emerged. His face was wet from crying and he looked up at her desperately, searching for good news. But the sight of him - and of everyone else's obvious anxiety - made Scully falter. Any reassurances her mind had planned on giving evaporated as everyone's attention focused on her and the soft chatter stilled so the only sound was of a cold breeze rustling leaves on the plants in the garden beds.

Her mother hugged her. Scully accepted it gratefully. She leaned her head on her mother's shoulder, felt her mother's loving arms go around her back, and Scully closed her eyes. She sighed into her mother's shoulder, soaking up the comfort from her mother's hands stroking her back. She stayed there a while before forcing herself to pull away. She slid her hands back from her mom's waist, and her mom stepped back and to the side of her, putting an arm around her shoulders and walking them the rest of the short way to where everyone was standing.

Charlie stepped up to her other side and held her gun out for her. She nodded her thanks and slid it back into its holster at her waist.

"How is she?" Bill asked. He looked worried.

"He's examining her," Scully said. There was nothing else she could say.

"Is her mother with her?" Anne asked.

"No," Scully replied. "Her parents are in the main hall. Mulder's talking with them."

John's eyes met hers. She knew he was wondering whether Monica could cope with the doctor alone, but Scully had no answers to give him. She did not know if Monica would cope. She did know that Monica was in a shock-like state, but there was nothing to be gained from telling that to John. He looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown already.

"But this guy's the best in the world, right?" Bill said. "He must have seen this kind of thing dozens of times."

"Similar," Scully said. "But yes."

There was a short pause. Scully could no longer stand everyone looking at her and lowered her head, sighing.

"Dana," Christi said, getting to her feet. "Sit down."

Christi reached down for her arm and helped her toward the seat where she sat down next to John. Her mother sat down on her other side. Scully reached into John's lap beside her and took his warm, wet hand in hers. She squeezed it, and after a second, he squeezed back, took a deep breath, and the look of anguish in his eyes eased.

"Dana," Charlie said, with a touch of hesitance, "I don't understand. What happened in there?"

"She was just weak," Scully said. "There are certain ... _memories_ which are very painful to recall. For Monica, Follmer's suicide - and the guilt surrounding it - is one of them. Remembering what happened makes her feel nauseous, and so she gets sick, and vomits. And I think that this time she was just too weak to pick herself up again. She's been getting steadily worse since we left Vancouver."

"No, I got that part." He spoke hesitantly, afraid of saying the wrong thing. "I meant where she ..."

"Pulled her gun on you," Jack finished, moving to stand beside his wife.

Scully nodded to herself, everything suddenly falling into place. Of course, they knew nothing about the Preijers ordeal. She exchanged a glance with John, both of them silently asking each other whether they should proceed with an explanation. Then John gave the tiniest nod, and Scully looked back up at Charlie.

"Uh ... Monica was in a car accident last year. She was driving home from John's when a drunk ran a stop sign and rammed into the side of her vehicle. She was taken to the ER and the physician on duty there - Doctor Jack Preijers - deliberately administered a lethal dose of pentobarbital into her system. She was declared brain dead."

Charlie stared. "But -"

Scully nodded, not needing to hear the rest of the sentence. "Yeah, it was a miracle. Completely unheard of in the field of medicine. But she woke up just as they were about to begin harvesting her organs for donation. The official report concluded the EEG machine they used to monitor her was faulty."

Everyone stared at her.

"We caught Preijers, charged him with four counts of murder and one of attempted murder, amongst other things. We had her under guard for three days while she recovered. But we never found out how many other people he had murdered in the past, and Monica has had a fear of doctors ever since."

"I'm not surprised," Tara said, shocked.

The faces of the others showed they thought the same thing.

Scully nodded. She looked back to Charlie. "What you saw was a panic attack, in response to our asking you to call the paramedics. I think that it was just one more thing than she could handle right now."

"But that round of vomiting was one more thing than her body could handle," John said. "We didn't have much choice. We were lucky to avoid having to take her in last night."

"Yeah," Scully said. She nevertheless looked away from everyone's eyes. Knowing she had no choice did not help to ease the guilt she felt at inflicting such terror on her friend.

"You did the right thing, Dana," her mother said, putting her arm back around her shoulders.

"I doubt she'll see it that way."

"Won't she?" John questioned. "She trusts you more than anybody. She trusted you to take care of her when she woke up in the hospital that day. She trusted you without a thought last night. She trusted you that day on the mountain. She trusted you when we were trying to get her into the hospital in Vancouver."

"And now?"

"Now you recognised she wouldn't handle a trip to hospital. You understood and you didn't force her." He shrugged. "And you got her the top doc delivered so she can beat this thing."

"You know, Dana," Christi said, smiling at her, "if that's failure I wouldn't mind seeing success sometime."

Scully shook her head, not able to persuade herself to buy into the cheeriness.

"We've got a long way to go."

XXX

It had been nearly an hour and Monica was still in with Dr Cheung. John had given up on sitting down and instead paced the church floor, around the altar, between the pews, and again and again past the eyes of Christi, who as time passed on, had gone from worried to amused.

They had moved in from outside due to the cold and the combined fears from both his mother and Margaret Scully, who were still concerned they would get sick. Jana Cassidy was standing at the closed doors to the street, talking with four other agents who had also remained behind. Everyone else was sitting on the front row pews, or sitting on the edge of the stage where the altar was.

"John, you're going to wear the floor out," Christi said, sitting on the stage between their mom and dad.

He had reached the end of the end of the pew yet again and turned around, feeling helpless. He saw the smile on his sister's face, but was unable to match it, and only felt annoyed by her lighthearted attitude.

"Oh, John," she said, her face softening. She got to her feet and crossed to him, putting an arm around him. "I'm sure she's okay. I mean the fact that it's taking this long is a good sign, right?"

She looked to Scully for confirmation.

"I think it is," Scully said, from her position between Mulder and her mother. "He's obviously calmed her down and got her talking, and I think it'd be foolish to think that all this could be solved in the space of five minutes."

"It's been an hour," he said.

Scully nodded. "She'll be fine."

At that moment he heard footsteps and spun around to see Monica and Dr Cheung emerging from the corridor. They were walking slowly; he was supporting her around the waist. She looked very unsteady on her feet, her face was wet from crying, and there were used tissues clutched in her left hand.

"Jesus," John breathed, his heart breaking.

Scully and Mulder both rose to their feet. Scully quickly crossed to him and took his elbow.

"John, don't stare," she said, pulling his gaze down to hers. "She's going to feel awkward enough already. Just treat her as you would normally, okay?"

He looked over Scully's shoulder to where Monica and Doctor Cheung were walking. Her eyes rose hesitantly over to where they were all gathered and immediately lowered back to the floor. Doctor Cheung leaned in to speak to her.

"_John_," Scully said, squeezing his arm harder.

He took a deep breath and nodded to her.

"Okay," she said, and her hand slipped into his. "Come on."

Together with Mulder they walked down the aisle to meet them. John gave Doctor Cheung a questioning look as they approached.

"She'll be okay," he said, still helping her along.

"How are you feeling?" Scully asked kindly.

Monica exchanged a nervous look with Doctor Cheung. It was as if they had already discussed her answer to the question. John thought she looked like hell. Her hair was still falling out and messed up, her make-up was partly smudged from crying, and she looked drained of both energy and confidence.

She took a breath, trying to steady her nerves, and said, "A little shaky."

"Here, let me give you a hand," John said, moving to her free side and slipping an arm around her waist to steady her. Doctor Cheung withdrew his and moved aside to let Scully take his place.

"Thanks," Monica said softly.

It was a long walk back to their original position at the top of the church hall. Monica had been optimistically exaggerating when she said "shaky". John thought she was going to faint again, her movements were so weak. But they took their time, and both he and Scully helped her along at her own pace. Doctor Cheung and Mulder walked ahead of them.

"I thought Jana was attending the burial," Monica said, talking toward the floor as she watched her footing. Even her voice shook.

"She was going to, but she chose to stick around, ward off the fan club outside," Scully said.

"I think the FBI's represented well enough," John said.

"The media are still outside?" Monica asked, her tone that of dread.

"As far as I know," Scully said. "We haven't dared to look."

They reached the front pew and John and Scully both helped Monica sit down in their circle of relatives. Monica leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. John kept his arm around her. Mr and Mrs Reyes were both staring at her but Monica wouldn't meet their eyes. Instead, she picked a spot on the floor and kept her attention there.

Doctor Cheung and Mulder also joined their circle. Everyone's eyes looked to him, waiting for a report on Monica's health.

"Well," he said, "we've had a good, long, wide-ranging discussion, and the good news is I think she's going to be fine. There is some obvious physical weakness from what she's endured, but with a sensible diet, that will go away in no time. I have prescribed some medication which I think will help. I have also talked with Monica about several other things which I have asked her to share with you when she's ready, though preferrably sooner rather than later."

Monica met the doctor's eyes and nodded.

"Mr and Mrs Reyes, I would like a private word with you, but first I would like to have a general discussion about how the rest of you are doing."

John felt uncomfortable, but Mulder said, "Sure. Fire away."

"Well first of all I want to congratulate you. Considering what you've been through, you are all doing astonishingly well. In the time I've spent in the field of post-traumatic stress, I have treated thousands of people who have suffered all kinds of traumatic experiences, and I have to say you're coping better than nearly all of them. I realise this is in part due to you, Doctor Scully, and Agent Mulder, both of you having knowledge of the field yourselves, and I want to congratulate you on a job well done in pulling yourselves, your friends, and your families through this."

It was all too complimentary for John, and he wondered what the doctor's next line was going to be that warranted such a softening up. But both Mulder and Scully gave him polite nods of thanks.

"My next question is," the doctor went on, "how are you feeling?"

He looked to Scully first.

"Uh ..." Scully said, casting an awkward glance at her family. "I feel pretty good, actually. I'm just taking things day-to-day for now. I don't have the physical strength I had before all this began, but overall, I think things could be a lot worse."

"Dana ..." Mulder said softly.

John looked up at him, as did Scully, and saw disappointment in his eyes. No one needed to ask what he meant. John knew. Having spent nearly a month with the two of them, he was getting to read them quite well. Not only did Mulder never call Scully "Dana", even in the presence of her family, but he knew the look he was giving her now was the gentlest way of telling her to cut the crap that he could manage.

"How are you coping emotionally?" Doctor Cheung asked.

This time Scully hesitated. John knew she was searching for the courage to be honest in such a large crowd.

"I try not to let myself think about it," she said at last.

John expected the doctor to press her, but he didn't. He merely looked at her thoughtfully as though he had heard everything she hadn't bothered to say.

"Agent Doggett?" Doctor Cheung asked.

"I don't know," John said. "I haven't really thought about it. Just trying to get from moment to moment like everyone else."

Doctor Cheung nodded. "Okay. Agent Mulder?"

"I am far from comfortable with our present situation, and it's not something I'd wish on anybody. I admit I do feel weak, and I have trouble thinking about some of the things that happened up there ... especially what happened to AD Skinner and Kimberly ... but at the same time I am confident that we all have the power to get through, providing we're honest with each other."

He made it look so easy, John thought. While he and Scully felt uncomfortable with being grilled on their emotional status, Mulder let it roll off his tongue with an ease that showed his professionalism as a psychologist.

"How about you, Mrs Scully?" Doctor Cheung asked. "How do you feel about all this?"

"It scares me," Mrs Scully answered. "I think it scares all of us."

John felt sorry for Mrs Scully as the intensity of her eyes gave away the pain she felt within. He cast a glance at Dana, but she had looked away, and was looking down at the floor, like Monica.

"Why does it scare you?" Doctor Cheung asked.

"Because there's nothing we can do," Mrs Scully said. "When Dana had her cancer we at least knew what we were up against. But now ... even if Dana were comfortable talking to us about it, I don't know how we can fight such a powerful memory."

"I don't think it's something you can fight," Tara said. "I think it might be something you just learn to live with, like an old war wound that still gives you pain every day."

There was a moment of quiet after Tara's sentence. From John's own experience with trauma, he knew Tara was right. What they had been through would hurt them every day for the rest of their lives, but it _could _be fought. It was just their reactions to the experience that they had to fight, not the experience itself. It was the emotions it induced.

"Mrs Doggett?" Doctor Cheung prompted. "How do you and your family feel?"

"I admit I'm still floating with relief that they're alive," John's mom said.

"We were all in a dark place eight years ago, when John's son was murdered," Christi said. "After going through that I think we feel we can cope with anything."

Doctor Cheung considered the statement for a minute, then looked over to Monica's parents.

"Mr and Mrs Reyes, I hope you don't mind that I'm going to hold off from asking you the same question at the moment, and instead I'd like to make a few recommendations to you all."

"Go right ahead," Mulder said, after the rest of them had hesitated.

"First of all," Doctor Cheung said, "I think you would feel better if the four of you open up to your families and take the time to talk about what happened. Monica told me you already talked about the death of AD Follmer this morning, but I hope you don't me saying that I do sense some awkwardness amongst you when it comes to relating your feelings and admitting weaknesses. It is my opinion that it is exactly that which caused Monica's trouble today. I understand that it is human instinct to reassure people you're okay, and given how unusually strong and independent the four of you are it is extremely difficult to fight those instincts and admit to needing help. But I can confidently say that only 100 honesty is going to help this time. If you want to show your families how strong and courageous you are, then I suggest you talk to them, because it takes a hell of a lot more courage to tell the truth than it does to feed them a lie."

John automatically looked toward Scully. She looked shaken by the words, but she met his eyes briefly. He let his hand leave Monica's back for a moment as he reached past her and squeezed Scully's shoulder. He knew Doctor Cheung had hit the nail on the head. He knew how hard it was for Scully to talk to her family. Scully wasn't one for talking about emotions even at the best of times.

"Second of all," he said, "and especially given your discomfort in regard to my last point, I strongly recommend that _all _of you seek counselling. For you, agents Scully, Doggett, Reyes and Mulder, I do think you would benefit from some assistance in confronting your feelings, especially on those things which I know you aren't saying." He turned to look at John's family, the Scullys and Monica's parents. "For you, I think it would also be very beneficial in coping with everything you yourselves have endured these past three weeks. You need to remember that you too have gone through something very difficult, and if you're finding it hard to cope I suggest you seek help and don't be afraid to do so." He paused. "Now, I am in Washington for at least the next week, and I am available if you wish to talk. I can also recommend many other outstanding people who would be happy to help, even in your own cities. I am going to leave some business cards with you, and I want you to know you are welcome to contact me at any time."

"Thank you," Margaret Scully said.

"And third," he said, "I do harbour some concern over your attendance at these funerals. I think that while we all sympathise with your reasons for wanting to attend, you do need to be careful to not push yourselves too hard in the process, as I think you did today. It is not worth attending if it's going to cost you this much each time. While I'm sure your friends would appreciate the gesture of your attendance, I do wonder what they would have said if they'd been here and seen what happened."

John didn't need to wonder. He knew how Follmer had felt about Monica and if he'd been alive and it had been someone else's funeral, he would have called her insane and said it was a ridiculous thing to do in her condition. Then he thought that maybe _he _should have that. Maybe they should have forced the issue a little more.

"All right, Mr and Mrs Reyes, would you mind coming with me?"

John watched as Monica's parents walked away with Doctor Cheung. Almost immediately, Monica sighed under his arm.

"You okay?" John asked her.

"Yeah," Monica said dully. "Just having the best frickin' day of my life."

XXX

Monica listened to the footsteps of her parents and Doctor Cheung fade into the distance, and then there was only the soft murmur of Jana Cassidy talking with the other FBI agents at the doorway to the church. She knew they were far enough away that they had heard nothing of the conversation, and was grateful that they were sensitive in keeping their distance and allowing them some privacy in which to talk. But now the moment had come, and everyone's faces were pointed in her direction, she was unsure what to say. She was relieved they did not look angry with her. Every one of them was concerned - especially Anne, Christi and Margaret. But their obvious concern for her only made her guilt worse, because they had come to DC to comfort John and Dana, not herself, and they had been forced into a messy situation of which they shouldn't have had to take part. Instead, they had been pulled right in, and had obviously just spent a boring hour waiting around in the church while she talked with Doctor Cheung.

At last, she could stand the awkwardness no longer. She sat up straighter, so John's hand moved from the centre of her back to her far shoulder and looked up at the worried people, forcing herself to meet their eyes.

"I'm sorry for dragging you all through this," she said.

Immediately she saw Margaret and Anne exchange looks, as though she had just said something ridiculous. For a second she thought she saw Anne smile, but she reined it in before it took full shape.

"Hey, that's what we're here for," Charlie said brightly, clearly not bothered at all. "We're here to stumble through every bit of muck and slime right alongside you."

Monica was touched, but it still didn't quite quell the uneasiness she felt inside her. He was here for Dana's murky swamp of emotions, not her own. Unable to face his bright smile, she looked back down to the wooden floor.

"You feel embarrassed?" Jack asked.

Monica didn't need to ponder the question. Yes, she felt embarrassed. She had left the front seat of a packed funeral hardly able to walk. Everyone had watched her retreat, and in doing so, she had drawn their attention away from the real reason they were there - to respect Brad Follmer's life. She had insulted Follmer. She had collapsed, had tried to pull her gun on her friends, had made a complete fool of herself and shown her irrational fear to the whole world. She had manipulated Dana into not letting her go to hospital, even though she knew now Dana had been fully justified in wanting to send her there. She had made everyone worry unncessarily, her friends, the Scullys and Doggetts, and even her own parents. She was scared to even think of what they were thinking now, of what they were hearing from the doctor...

"Don't feel embarrassed," Christi said kindly. "Considering what you've been through I'm just impressed you held out even this long. I was gone on the first day. The FBI have me listed as an emergency contact for John, and when they called the school the office transferred the call to my classroom. I had my breakdown in front of twenty-five ten-year-olds."

Monica looked up, surprised. Christi threw her a smile, her eyes shining at a memory that was both amusing and mortifying.

"It was the same for me," Tara said, eyes looking at Monica with perfect understanding. "I do two days a week in a solicitor's office. I was having an awful morning, with the kids playing up before I left, and then a desk full of disasters and a phone line jammed with complaints ... and then Bill called. He told me what happened, said they were saying there was a ninety-nine percent chance you were all dead. And I felt like a fool. The things I had been worrying about didn't even matter anymore. I just sat there in shock, and then I cried. A friend from work drove me home, and the news broke to the media less than an hour later. The FBI told us to stay where we were. The media stalked us for two weeks while we waited for news. If it hadn't been for my parents and sisters I think we'd both be in straightjackets by now."

Jack nodded in agreement. "If you want to talk about losing control in front of people, you should peruse the papers from the past few weeks. With no news from the officials the cameras spun toward _us_, and the other families of the missing. I don't think there's anyone who didn't crack. You could make a fool of yourself for the next two weeks straight, Monica, and you still won't have caught up to us."

Monica's mind was spinning from what she was hearing, but in the midst of it all she realised that that at least explained why they had been so quick to react when Dana had fainted outside the FBI.

"All except Charles," Bill said. "Though he copped it worse than any of us."

Out of the corner of her eye, Monica saw Dana's eyes turn towards her brothers, not understanding. She gave them a questioning look. Monica saw Margaret give Bill one that said she wished he'd kept his mouth shut.

"What do you mean?" Dana said quickly, looking from her mother to Bill and Charlie.

"The navy wouldn't let me come back," Charlie said, his joking face suddenly hardening. "We were off the east coast of Australia doing a joint training exercise with the Australian and New Zealand navies. I heard the news but it was two weeks before I got clearance to leave. For all I knew my sister was dead, and I was stuck in the middle of the pacific doing political handshakes. I've never felt so lonely or pissed off in all my life." His blue eyes looked into Monica's. "And I lost it far more than once."

Monica's heart filled instantly with disgust for Charlie's bosses, and sympathy for Charlie. If nothing else, Monica had had friends around her. Charlie had been alone and thousands of miles away.

"Then how did you get back?" Dana asked.

"A little power play," he answered. "After you were found alive the FBI heard about it and your bosses stepped in to help. I don't know what they did or who they threatened, but the next thing I knew I was being flown to Sydney, and I got a plane trip back here." He paused. "You have the best bosses in the world, Dana."

Monica looked to Dana, who was still sitting beside her. Her eyes were moist, but she looked caught between several different emotions. Disgust, horror and sympathy were a few of them, but surprise was dominant in her face. Surprise that the bosses she had been fighting with, and largely hating, for nine years had taken such extreme measures to support her.

Then Charlie grinned and his joking manner bounced back. "I don't know how you manage to always pick the times when I'm on the other side of the world to get sick. When you got kidnapped I was in the Mediterranean, when you were dying of cancer I was in the middle east, and this time I was down under. If I didn't know better I'd say you were doing it deliberately. _Next _time you decide to cark it, can you at least do me the courtesy of checking my calendar and making sure I'll be on land somewhere? Otherwise I'm going to be six feet under before I even hit 40."

Despite herself, Monica smiled. Beside her, Scully's face had split into an amused smile, too. Monica knew that Charlie's meaning had been on another level entirely, and it had been interpreted perfectly by Scully. It was one thing Monica found interesting about the family. Unlike the Doggetts, no one ever said anything outright and honestly. The Scullys spoke ten levels above their own words where something was always encrypted before being sent through the air to the receiver's ear. This time, Monica understood it too. She knew Charlie had really said that he loved her, that he hated never being able to be there for her, that he had probably blindly roamed the ship as an emotional wreck for the two weeks he had been held there ... just as she knew that the smile Dana was giving him, and he was beaming back at her, was confirmation of what they really meant to each other as siblings, that she had missed him, and loved him as well. The strong resemblance between the two of them struck Monica hard. It wasn't only the red hair and blue eyes, but also something in the way their minds worked. And they were both highly intelligent.

"You see?" Margaret said, smiling. "We've all had our moments."

Monica did feel a little better, but something in her stomach still squirmed. They had all had their emotional moments, had probably all lost it several times of the past few weeks, but none of them had gone to the lengths she had. None of them had pulled a gun on their best friends. She looked away from the smiling Scully clan.

"What is it?" John asked. His hand had been resting idly on her shoulder as everyone talked, but now it began moving, rubbing softly through her leather jacket.

Monica instinctively shook her head. She still felt too horrified by what she had done to make sense of it, or be able to talk about it. Then she remembered Doctor Cheung telling her to be open with them, and she felt guilty. She had to tell them, but she _couldn't _tell them.

"Monica?" Scully prompted, her hand landing on Monica's in her lap, and small fingers closing over her own.

Tears sprung to Monica's eyes at the gentle gesture. Out of nowhere, she was crying, the tears slipping down her face. She raised her free hand to hastily wipe them away. John's arm tightened around her shoulders. Through her hand she saw Mulder peel away from the crowd. He crossed the space and knelt in front of her, his hand on her knee.

"I pulled a gun on you," she said, as softly as she could, hoping no one other than John, Dana and Mulder would hear.

"You _tried_," John said, squeezing her shoulders.

Whether they had thwarted her or not wasn't the point in Monica's mind. The point was that she had even got the point where she had begun to. She knew she had been barely conscious, panicking and delirious, but it scared her that she had done it at all.

"Hey," Mulder said, rubbing her knee. "Preijers tried to murder you. Who wouldn't get a little freaked out after that? I think it's perfectly natural to feel afraid. A doctor is someone you're supposed to be able to trust when you're at your absolute worst and completely unable to defend yourself. He breached that trust. Instead of healing you he tried to _kill _you. It's a natural survival instinct for your mind to now induce fear at the thought of being put back in the same position. It's understandable."

He made it all sound so good, thought Monica, but she was still uncomfortable.

"I think that's my fault, Monica," Scully said, squeezing her hand. "I shouldn't have called the paramedics."

"No, you had no choice," Monica said, comletely unwilling to let her take the blame for something that had been thoroughly Monica's fault.

There was a pause. Monica glanced over at the Doggetts and Scullys. They were all watching, but looked away when they saw her look up at them.

"Did you talk to the doctor about it?" John asked.

Monica sighed. "He says I should think about getting some counselling."

It had been one of things he had asked her to share with them, and she had dreaded doing so, but now it was off her tongue she felt a little lighter.

"I think that's a good idea," Scully said, fingers squeezing Monica's. "I've been myself a couple of times, during tough cases, and it's always been a help."

Monica looked up at her, surprised. She couldn't imagine Scully seeking emotional help. She had always thought her to be closed off to her emotions, and against anyone else probing into them. But Scully met her gaze with perfect confidence and no shame, and Monica knew she was telling the truth. But then, she thought, it was no wonder Scully hadn't admitted to it before. Visits to counsellors were not a source of pride among FBI agents. They tended to make people think the person was weak. It had changed a little in recent years, but it was still tough to admit to seeking help and generally not something an agent would share with anyone other than their closest and most trusted friends.

"It's nothing to be afraid of," Mulder said. "I've been a few times. Not to anyone at the FBI, but to an independent psychologist. It's nothing to be ashamed of, and if they can help you with this then it'll be well worth it."

"And you know I was in for months after Luke, and the divorce," John said, shrugging. He nodded to his parents and sister. "We all went for a while."

Christi nodded, backing him up. "It was tough, but it was worth it."

"I think it's just a matter of finding someone you feel comfortable talking with," Scully said.

Monica nodded. "Maybe when this is over."

They didn't push her, as she knew they wouldn't when they understood so well that it was impossible to tackle anything more than she already had on her plate. She did not currently have the strength to fight the Preijers battle, but would return to it when she was feeling better. Maybe in another few weeks, if things calmed down ... but not yet.

Scully's thumb stroked Monica's fingers. "What did he prescribe you?"

"An antidepressant and something he said would kill the nausea," Monica answered.

She reached into her jacket with her free hand and pulled out the slip of yellow paper from an inside pocket. She handed it to Scully to read.

Scully read it and then nodded. "Good."

"We'll pick it up on the way home," John said.

"Perhaps let us?" Anne said. "If you go it'll make the front page."

John looked to her, asking whether it was okay, and Monica nodded gratefully.

"That'd be a big help," Monica said. "Thanks."

"Well as Charlie said, that's what we're here for," Anne said.

And she took the prescription from Scully.

XXX

Half an hour later, when Monica's parents were still in talking with Doctor Cheung, Jana Cassidy walked up to them from the back of the church. The conversation had long since wandered into less intense territory. Monica was sitting, resting with her head on John's shoulder while his fingers danced on her own shoulder, sometimes playing with the ends of her hair. Scully had left her other side and gone to sit with Mulder, and was talking with Bill and Charlie about the navy, both of them sharing lighthearted anecdotes with her while Tara rolled her eyes with a 'boys will be boys' look. And then Monica heard someone walking towards them. It was a woman - she could tell from the sound of the heels - and immediately thought of her mother. She began to lift her head from John's shoulder, just as he said, "Jana Cassidy". She almost left it there, but then professionalism struck and she sat up, stretching a little. John's arm moved back a little to rest on the rear of the pew just as Jana Cassidy walked into their circle.

"You look a lot better, Agent Reyes," Jana Cassidy said, moving to lean casually against the stage near Anne.

"Thank you," Monica said. "I feel a lot better now."

Jana nodded. "I'm glad. I hope you don't mind me saying that you gave us all a bit of a scare, there."

The statement made Monica feel uncomfortable, and she hesitated, not sure how to reply. Thankfully, after a few seconds, Jana spoke again, removing the necessity of her answering at all.

"There are a few things I would like to talk to you all about, if you don't mind."

"Sure," Mulder said, folding his arms. "Go right ahead."

"Well in light of what's happened today we've reviewed our position and come to a few decisions regarding your unique situation. I would like to talk to you about them now, with the understanding that you are quite welcome to object if you think any of the conclusions we've come to seem unfair."

Mulder nodded on their behalf.

"All right," she said, and paused for a breath. "Firstly, as you were on FBI business at the time of this accident, we want you to know we are prepared to cover any and all medical bills you might require. This includes any doctor's visits, medications, counselling ... we'll reimburse you for the lot."

Monica was surprised, given that the accident hadn't been the FBI's fault.

"Thank you," Scully said. "That's very generous."

Jana gave her a small smile.

"Secondly, and this is where it starts to get more difficult, we're putting all four of you on sick leave. I'm not expecting any of you to even begin thinking about work for at least another four weeks. We've looked into your records, and Agent Doggett, you had the least leave stacked up and I believe that was three months' worth. I expect we will be extending that beyond four weeks, but keep in touch, and we'll see how it goes and how you're coping. I certainly don't expect to see you in the Bureau before then."

Monica had barely taken a sick day since she had joined the Bureau in 1990, and had over six months' worth and so had no objections at all to using it. She also hadn't even given a thought to returning to work. That point seemed so far away. She had not even thought beyond the end of the funerals.

"Closely related to that," Jana went on, "is that in the event you do wish to return to work at any time after the four weeks have passed, we will be asking you to submit to a doctor's examination and provide us with written evidence that you are both physically and mentally fit to return to work. In the event that you wish to return to field work, we will also be asking you to submit to a full FBI physical, which you will have to pass before we let you back."

Monica now saw the part of the talk that Jana thought they would object to. The FBI physical was a brutal test, and not one that Monica enjoyed putting herself through. It was made up of timed sprints, push ups, pull ups, and sit ups - and several other gruelling tasks in which they had to perform to a certain level before being considered fit enough for FBI duty. She had taken the test when she had first gone to Quantico, but after that it was only forced upon field agents every three years. The last time Monica had done it had been in New Orleans. She knew all four of them were so far out of shape now that they would have to put some serious work in to get themselves fit enough to pass it. But she understood why the FBI thought it was necessary, and as much as she hated taking the test, she understood why they were being asked to take it.

"And lastly," Jana said, taking their silence for acceptance, "we're going to request that you hand in your weapons. We ask this largely for your own safety. I think we have an inkling of the emotional pressure you are under, and we aren't keen to take these risks. Personally I'd like this funeral today to be the last time I ever hear of an agent using their weapon against themselves. It isn't a punishment - you are free to keep your badges - but I think we would all be more comfortable if you permit us to mind them for you, for the time being."

On this one, Monica hesitated. To be deprived of her weapon made her feel insecure, it had become such a part of her daily dressing routine she wasn't sure whether she would feel comfortable without it. She looked around at John, saw him hesitating, too, and Mulder and Scully exchanged a glance. But then Monica thought of what Jana and said, and her mind went to hearing the gunshot and seeing Brad lying in the snow, and she felt herself waver. She also knew Jana was aware that Monica had tried to pull her weapon on the others, and that it had probably been this which had informed the FBI's decision to request their removal. The guilt still surging throughout her, Monica saw it was the right decision.

"Probably a wise move," Monica said. She thought of removing her weapon, and then remembered she didn't have it. As she began to wonder where it was, Christi reached behind to near the altar and picked it up. She held it out past her mother to Jana Cassidy.

"This is Monica's," she said.

"Thank you," Jana said, taking the weapon from Christi's hands.

Almost immediately, Scully and Mulder both gave in, each reaching under their coats and removing their guns. They walked to Jana in turn and handed them over without a word. John was next, leaving her side to hand over his as well.

"Thank you," Jana repeated. She stood up and straightened her black jacket, her soft and caring expression reverting to that of a tough assistant director. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go clip the wings of those vultures outside."

Monica couldn't help smiling, and Jana smiled back at her. As Jana took a few steps to walk away, Monica stopped her.

"Jana?" she asked.

Jana stopped and looked down kindly at Monica.

Monica took a deep breath. "Thank you."

She knew Jana understood. It was not a thank you for removing their weapons, or for any other specific thing she had told them. It was for being there for them, for helping them, and for constantly being on their side.

"You're welcome," Jana replied. "Just take care of yourself, Agent Reyes."

She looked worried as she said it, as though she thought Monica was being careless with her physical and emotional health but was not game to admonish her. But then Jana gave another small smile. She went to head for the door again, but stopped after only one step.

"Your parents are coming."

XXX

Monica left the group and walked slowly down the side aisle, gripping the edge of each pew as she went. She felt a lot better than she had an hour ago, but she still felt a little weak and her legs did not seem to want to do any walking. She knew there was nothing wrong, that it was just weakness from everything she had endured, and then keeping down no food for so long, but it still made her feel like an invalid and she hated it. But she thought, at least it would go away. The pills the doctor prescribed her would take care of the nausea, she would be able to eat again, and she would get stronger.

"Oh, honey," her mother said, meeting her halfway down the aisle. She had been crying, there was evidence of tears on her cheeks, but she did not look angry or in pieces as Monica had feared she would. Behind her came her father, and he looked quieter than usual, without the twinkle in his eye, but before she could analyse them any further she found herself being hugged by her mother. It was not a strangling hug as all the previous ones had been, not a desperate clinging, but this time extremely gentle as though she thought Monica was likely to snap in half. Monica kept one hand on the edge of the pew to steady her balance, and put her other around her mother's back. Her mother rubbed her back a few times, then kissed her very softly on the edge of the cheek, lips barely pressing down.

"Sit down, honey," she said, promptly helping her into the wooden seat she had her hand on. Monica gratefully did so, and her mother and father sat down either side of her.

Immediately her mother's hand gripped Monica's, in a grip just as gentle as the hug had been. Monica felt nervous about the talk she knew was coming, about how they had taken all the things Doctor Cheung would have said to them, things she had heard Scully tell the doctor before her own examination. She felt relieved when her mother appeared to take the lead.

"You know I love you," she began.

Monica nodded. She wanted to say that she loved them too, but knew that once her mother started talking she usually didn't like to be interrupted.

"I'm sorry we've made things hard on you. I guess we weren't thinking, or we just ... just so scared, that we didn't think through our actions carefully enough. We both apologise for that. I haven't been through this before. _You _haven't been through this before. We've all made mistakes and I think that now we've realised them all we can do is move forward."

Monica sighed, feeling extremely awkward. "I agree."

"I don't think this is the reunion either of us have hoped for," her father said, sitting on the edge of the seat and facing them so he was talking to them both. "I know time is a constant, that with time comes change, and change is impacting on us all the time. We are never the same people we were yesterday, and we will always be someone different tomorrow. But when we think of how a loved one will have changed when we haven't seen them a few years, we never expect something this dramatic. We think your hair will be different " - and he smiled fondly at Monica's messy hair, remembering a time years ago when Monica had surprised them with cutting it very short - "or there will be a new man on your arm, or a ring on your finger, or maybe you will have moved offices, to a new city with new trends and friends, but never this. None of us _ever _expected this, and it's taking some adjusting. The doctor asked us to be honest with you, as I am sure he asked you to be with us, and so I hope you'll permit me saying that I barely recognised you when I saw you in the hospital. I love you, but you've changed. Maybe we've all changed, and we're just ... being people we aren't anymore."

Monica wasn't a hundred percent sure what he was getting at. She knew they were upset with her for not having visited in nearly three years, but she had explained to them over and over why that had been the case. She had planned to during her time in New Orleans, but then one of her friends had fallen sick, landed in hospital, and Monica had postponed. Then she had postponed again when her move to Washington and the X-Files had appeared out of thin air. She knew her parents had expected her to go to Mexico for a while after her car accident, and spend a few lazy weeks recuperating, but then there had been the court case, quickly followed by the renewed investigation into Luke's disappearance, and both the court and John had needed her. Yes, she knew they had been angry and disappointed. She knew the experience in the mountains would have changed her, but other than her physical appearance she wondered exactly what her father was referring to. Had she really become unrecognisable?

"Don't you worry, honey," her mother said. "We love you more than anything, and we'll get through this. I suppose I've just never been in this position before. And I don't think Margaret Scully is the only one who's scared by it. I just need your help understanding things. I'm never quite sure what you're thinking. Sometimes I can't make sense of your choices, and your actions. It all confuses me."

Monica knew this was one hell of a confession from her mother, and felt in awe of Doctor Cheung that he had managed to push her into saying it. Her mother was a woman who was always confident, especially in any social situations. It was not like her to admit to needing help, to admit to being at a total loss and finding herself in alien territory. It touched Monica that she had the courage to say it, and Monica squeezed the hand that was holding her own.

"I think I'm confusing myself, sometimes," Monica said, giving her a smile. It was more or less the truth; a few times even in just the last few days she had looked back and wondered what had possessed her to do something. Dragging her three friends out to the front of the FBI, resulting in Scully fainting, had been one such incident she was still kicking herself over.

"It just feels like you're embracing this pain," her father said, looking at her with his sharp eyes. "We see you surrounding yourself with this, burying yourself over your head and inhaling it like a person inhales a toxic drug. You cling to your friends like they're the air you breathe. You refuse to search for answers as to who caused the crash. You push yourself into coming to this funeral, when everyone could see you were not well enough to handle it. And then you insist on going to three more, one for every day of the week, and dragging all the rest of these kind people along, holding them down in this unbearable pain you feel. It's not _like _you, Monica. You know we want to help. I'm just confused as to how this is supposed to be helping. How does it help to drown yourself in tragedy? I thought healing would involve a doctor, or some counselling, coming home for a while and being with family and friends. Maybe a change of job or career. Just not gluing yourself to this _cold _city, to endless funerals and painful reminders, holding on desperately to three people who will only ever make you remember. Can you explain it to me?"

His voice was not in accusation, but in a sincere sense of being lost. Monica finally saw where they were coming from. She sighed.

"It helps because I love them," she said simply. "We've become close."

"Of course," her mother said quickly. "Honey, they're _good _people. Whatever you need is fine by us, as long as you can help us bridge this gap between us. How can I have known we were annoying you? How was I supposed to know if you refused to tell us? Instead we hear it not from you, but from the doctor, who heard it from your friend, who didn't even hear it from you, but _guessed_?"

Monica looked away from her mother's annoyed eyes. The hand holding hers had tensed.

"That's why I want to remain with them," Monica said. "Because we don't need to explain. We can look into each other's eyes and understand. They know what it was like."

"Okay," her mother said, nodding as though pleased they were finally getting somewhere. "They see it in your eyes. They were there and they can read you. But we were not there and we can't. I look into those same eyes and I see a woman I don't know anymore. I used to see joy there, you used to laugh and smile, and make jokes with us. Now there are tears, weakness and pain, and always shadows and ghosts. Where there used to be confidence there is now only endless, endless fear. You look at the world as though you are terrified of it. And I don't understand this. Honey, it scares me, just as it scares Margaret Scully and Anne Doggett. We can't read these things in your eyes. We need you to translate them for us. Maybe we haven't been close in a long time. I can admit that to you, Monica. But if we are ever going to move forward again you need to help us understand who you are now."

It was another huge confession, and it felt just as heavy as the first one. Monica was feeling steadily worse by the second, and couldn't even bring herself to form a reply this time.

"I worry," her father said, "not only for that, but because even if you were to stay with them for weeks, and soak up every piece of pain until you can't hold any more, there will come a point when you still need to move on. The world is not stopping. It still spins and the changes keep coming, and it won't stop for you. People will move on. The public will forget. The FBI will rebuild itself. Your friends' families will go home to their jobs and their children. And where does that leave you? Engulfed with a pain no one cares for any longer? Alone? An outcast? Someone who will never quite fit in again, who is forever scarred by what happened? Monica, if you need to attend funerals, to cling to your friends, then we are all for it, just as long as each day is getting better for you than the day before. I am not convinced it has done you any good so far. And I just hope it will. I hope I'm wrong."

His fear terrified her, because by nature her father was not one to be afraid. It was one characteristic that had helped him thrive in business, that had made him a millionaire.

There was a silence amongst them. Monica was still trying to swallow everything they had said, and also trying to fight off a fear that maybe they were right. Something in their speeches made her deeply uncomfortable.

"Oh, honey," her mother said again. Her hand softened as it held Monica's. "You don't have to think about this now. You're tired, you're not well, you've had a terrible day and you need time. But it'll all get better, okay? We'll fix it. You just tell us what you need, and we're here."

Monica was then being hugged sideways by her mother, and she let her head rest on her mother's shoulder. She felt her father's hand on her back.

"We love you, baby," her mother whispered in her ear. She pressed another kiss to Monica's cheek.

"I love you, too," Monica said. She felt as though she was going to cry, but no tears came, because she had cried so many it was like there were none left.

"You just tell us what you need," her mother repeated.

Monica pulled away. Every part of her, mentally and physically, felt like hell.

She took a deep breath, gathering her courage to be honest with them for the first time, to give it all a try.

"I want to go home, to John's," she said.

"All right," her father said, and his strong hand left her back. "I'll go let them know."

He got up and left. Monica watched him as he walked down to the front. She didn't dare meet the eyes of those she knew would be watching.

"There, now," her mother said brightly. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Next thing she knew her mother had stood up and her fingers were pulling at a pin in Monica's hair.

"Now let me fix your hair before we meet those cameras."

* * *

_Wow oh wow oh wow, did I back myself into a tight corner with this section! Phew! I was originally going to have Monica simply sit out the rest of the funeral outside with Scully, and have the two of them have a girl talk about previous relationships, but when I got close I realised that was impossible, because there was just no way John would leave her like that and go back and happily sit in the rest of the funeral while she was sick and upset. But neither could I send her to hospital, with the terror of hospitals I had created in her. So I had to find a really awkward in-between place and I really, oh really, hope it sounded plausible. I actually had no intention of bringing the issue with her parents to a climax like that - not for another few days - but it started to get too much so I called a temporary truce and called in the doctor several days too soon. So it's all peace ... for now. The end of crying Monica at least until I do the rounds of the other three (which'll be several hundred pages - LOL). But eek! What a nasty mess I got myself into there!_


	8. Chapter 8

_**Chapter Thirty-Four - The Perils of Post-Trauma Love**_

They were the first to get back from the church, owing to the fact that they had been the only ones who hadn't needed to walk two blocks back to the car park. Everyone had seen Monica's difficulty walking, and not wanting to engage her in a two block sprint with the media on their heels, Mulder had walked down to their car with Charlie and driven it around to the front of the church while Monica's mother fixed up her hair and make-up. When the car had arrived, Monica had insisted on walking to it unaided, for the sake of the hundred or so cameras pointed at her, but once they were a block away she closed her eyes and rested, completely worn out.

It had been another silent car trip, everyone lost in their thoughts, or so it was for the part where Monica was awake. She came to about a block from John's house, his hand gently shaking her shoulder.

"You okay to walk in alone?" he asked, as the car glided towards the waiting reporters.

"Yeah," Monica said, blinking as she remembered where she was. "I think so."

She didn't dare to look between the front seats and see what was ahead. She knew the crowd would be quite large, everyone hunting for a sign of what had happened at the church. She was extremely grateful to the FBI and the Catholic Church that neither of them had let on. The guests of the funeral would have told of Monica leaving, looking ill, but past that information was scarce, and it was obviously frustrating the media, who probably would have even settled for a photograph of someone helping her to the car, except that Monica had foreseen that and chosen to avoid it, however hard it was to walk by herself when her whole body wanted nothing more than to collapse into an everlasting sleep.

Scully's head turned from the front passenger seat, peering around at her. "You don't have to put up a brave front. They already know you were ill."

"Yeah, I know," Monica said, pushing herself up in her seat from the slumped position she had slept in. "But it's only a few feet."

Scully stared straight at her for several seconds, and for a moment Monica thought she was going to argue the point. She certainly looked a little annoyed, and Monica felt guilty, knowing everything Scully had done for her over the past two days and realising it was no wonder the woman was frustrated that she kept insisting she was fine. John, too, looked doubtful. She saw Mulder glance at her in the mirror.

"None of you could carry me anyway," Monica said honestly. "You all said yourselves you're feeling weak."

The argument was won, and seconds later, after Mulder pulled the car into John's driveway, Monica opened the door and walked alone into John's house. She took it relatively slowly, and Mulder and Scully both hovered either side of her, but they did not touch her, and respected her wishes. John walked ahead to open the front door, and Monica ignored the camera flashes and wild shouting from the other side of John's white picket fence, and kept her head up, and her mind focused on praying her legs wouldn't give way. Then she was inside, and Mulder closed the door behind them all.

John put his hands gently on her shoulders, trapping her still before she had the chance to proceed down the hall and sit down.

"You wanna lie down upstairs for a while?" he asked. "Take it easy for a bit?"

Monica was still waking up, but her heart had been heavy with the thought of hanging around in the living room with the nine relatives and having to participate in meaningless chatter for several hours. It was only just past four o'clock, and it was no doubt going to be a long while before they left for the night. But on the other hand, she was exhausted, and after what had happened during the day, no one could blame her for wanting to rest an hour or two.

"I think it'd be a good idea," Scully said. "You look like you can barely stay on your feet. You need to give yourself a chance to rest, Monica."

Scully's gentle insistence sealed the deal in Monica's mind.

"Yeah, I think I might," she said, looking up into John's worried eyes. "Just for an hour or two."

"Good," he said, and let go of her shoulders, instead putting an arm across her back and leading her to the stairs. Monica hesitated on the first step as she saw Mulder and Scully peeling away toward the living room and kitchen.

"You go ahead," Mulder said. "We'll be up in a second."

Feeling suddenly childish for needing them to accompany her at all, Monica nodded and continued her way up the stairs, John supporting her. She knew it must be her imagination, but it now seemed as though there were twice as many stairs as before, and that they were twice as steep. God damn John for having a two storey house, she thought wearily, as the muscles in her legs protested at the climb.

"You okay?" John asked, as her pace became slower and slower toward the top.

"Yeah," Monica said, only managing the one word around panting for breath. She was so far out of shape, she thought. She could ignore her boney figure. She only had to really take notice of that while showering. But her struggle for breath after only a few stairs was more alarming. Not long ago - only three weeks - she would have been able to run up and down the stairs ten times before she began to slow, but now her body screamed violently at the mere thought.

She paused at the top, leaning over slightly. "I think those things multiplied while we were away."

Hearing no witty reply, she looked up at him and saw his face was tense and his blue eyes scared. He seemed alarmed by her condition, even more so than he had been throughout the whole dreadful day. Without a word, he put his hands either side of her rib cage and gently pulled her upright again. He walked her down to the end of the hallway, keeping his eyes focused ahead, and opened the door to his bedroom. One of his hands left her to flick the light on, but quickly returned as he led her to sit down on the end of the bed. Monica sighed at the blissful feeling of the soft mattress sinking under her weight. She slipped off her heels. Her arms were heavy as she removed her jacket and put it beside her on the bed.

John folded back the covers and roughly fluffed up the pillow, and then stood up straight again. He eyed her sitting there. She was thinking she should remove her blouse and pants, but the effort to do it seemed too much and she wondered if it was really such a big deal to just climb in as she was. She could iron the blouse for tomorrow if it became wrinkled. John would no doubt have an iron she could borrow.

"Would you like something to wear?"

Monica knew he was thinking of her satin pyjamas, which were so clogged with sweat from her fever the previous night that they were sitting in the laundry and would need to be washed before she dared to wear them again. She hadn't brought a second pair with her.

"No, I'm okay," she said. "I'll just strip off."

She moved a hand to the bottom of her blouse, flicking open a button there. John averted his eyes and walked past her. She heard a wooden drawer slide open and him rummaging through his clothes. A moment later the drawer slid shut with a thud and he was back in front of her. He held out a white adidas t-shirt and black jogging shorts.

"You'll need something for later," he pointed out. "Or in case someone shows up."

Monica's mind was so blurred she hadn't even thought that far, but at his words a vision of her parents coming upstairs to check on her and then seeing her in only her underwear filled her mind. It was certainly possible. She took the clothes from his hand and put them in her lap.

She moved her tired hand to the next button on her blouse.

"You need a hand?" he asked, watching her slow movements.

As soon as he asked Monica was overcome with a huge yawn, and her hand left the button to cover her mouth.

Somehow, he seemed to take that as a "yes", because then he asked, "You want me to ask Dana?"

Monica took a second to recover from her yawn. It felt like a stupid question to her. Dana, John and Mulder had all seen her naked and half-naked so many times now that she didn't care anymore. She knew her naked body was no longer an attractive sight, and besides, just wanted to climb into bed and sleep.

"You've seen me naked before."

"Okay," he said, and knelt down in front of her. He took the clothes from her lap and laid them down beside her on the bed. Then, avoiding her eyes, he reached for the second last button on her blouse and undid it. He hurriedly worked his way up to the top, but did not spread the sides. Instead he stood up and looked over her shoulder. Monica put her arms behind her and shrugged off her blouse. He peeled it away from her arms and then folded it up on top of her leather jacket.

Another yawn hit. Monica leant forward, boney elbows on her boney knees. She closed her eyes until it passed. When it did, and she looked up at John again, it was to see he was being a gentleman and was avoiding looking at her in her half-naked state. He had the white adidas t-shirt in his hands, arranged so as it was ready to pull over her head. Before she knew what was happening - he was already tugging it over her head, pulling it gently over her hairdo. Monica automatically slipped her arms through the sleeves and pulled it down over her body. The cotton was soft and cool against her skin. It was so comfortable she felt like falling asleep as she sat there, but as the thought snuck up on her John gently took her hand and tugged, urging her to her feet.

John stood there, looking hesitant now at the prospect of unzipping her pants. Monica steadied herself with a hand on his arm, and did it herself, quickly undoing the button and zip and letting them fall to her ankles. She stepped out of them, but left them there, not trusting herself to pick them up without toppling over. She reached for the shorts. John picked up the pants from the floor, folded them neatly and draped them over the rest of her clothes. Her hand found the arm of his suit again, and his hand took her elbow as she stood with one foot up, pulling the shorts over her feet as her dizzy body wobbled on the spot.

"Uh -" John began, his mouth open, about to offer help, but after a near stumble Monica managed on her own, and pulled the shorts up, and the baggy t-shirt down over them.

Monica took a step toward the bed, but John caught her left wrist.

"Your watch," he said.

He turned her wrist over so he could work the clasp and undid the delicate strip of silver. He took a step past her and put it down gently on the bedside table. He made a move as if to help her into bed, but Monica was already leaning over. She let herself fall, largely without grace, onto the white sheet, and lifted her sore legs, slipping them under the smooth covers. Her head fell onto the equally soft pillow and she closed her eyes, too tired to even pull the covers back over herself, or undo her tightly pinned hair.

She was already three quarters asleep when she felt John softly pull the covers back over her. The mattress lifted an inch or two as he tucked her in, and then his rough hand cupped her cheek.

"Sleep well," he said. "We won't be far away."

The outside world blurred. There were a few strange noises, a blur of whispering voices, and then the click of a light ... and Monica fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

XXX

With John and Monica on their way up the stairs, the first thing Scully did was to slip off her heels, which had been making her feet ache all day. She picked them up with one hand and put them down over in the corner beside her overnight bag. The air in the house was freezing, and her bare feet now felt the chill. She thought of putting some socks on, but decided against it, wanting to let her feet air for a bit.

Mulder slid off the jacket part of his suit and threw it unceremoniously onto one of the couches, and then made his way to the kitchen, his right hand loosening his tie. Scully eyed the discarded jacket for a moment before crossing to pick it up and lying it more neatly over Mulder's overnight bag. At any other time, she would have made him do it himself, pointing out that slobbiness was the height of rudeness when they were guests in someone's house. But this time, she was too tired to make a deal out of it, and understood perfectly the need for him to throw something - even if it was just his own jacket.

He was opening a cupboard underneath the sink when she reached the kitchen.

"How are you coping?" he asked, without looking up.

"I'm managing," she said, crossing to the high cupboard where she knew the glasses were kept.

The truth was she was so worried about Monica that everything else had been driven out of her mind. Ever since Monica had stumbled down the stairs at four o'clock that morning, dripping in sweat and barely conscious, she had been locked into a state of fear over her condition, and such was the strength of the emotion that there had been no room to think about anything else - even Follmer - in any great depth. Because behind the emotion was the knowledge that she had lost so many people already, and could not bear losing Monica as well. Monica had come too far with them to get this sick now, for Scully, John and Mulder to have to lose her now, and with Monica stubbornly not realising how sick she was, it was a danger that was quite real.

"You?" she asked, as she took a tall glass from the cupboard and moved next to him at the sink, filling it with cold water.

He put the black plastic bucket on the bench and closed the cupboard.

"It doesn't scare you?" he asked, ignoring her question. "Get to you? Frighten you?"

She stopped, putting the full glass down on the sink. She looked into his eyes, saw his restlessness there.

"Of course it does," she said, lowering her voice.

He looked relieved, and he sighed, his tense shoulders relaxing. He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, and at the gentle gesture she felt her denial weaken. She turned on her side, hip against the counter, so they were facing each other. Automatically she reached out for him, her hands on his waist. His eyes met hers, and with slight pressure on her shoulder he drew her in for a hug. She put her head against his chest, her forehead against his shirt buttons. The hand that had been on her shoulder fell to slide warmly around her waist, and his other hand buried itself in her hair, sweeping it back gently.

They stayed like that for a while, locked into a conversation that needed no words. She felt his fear in his body, knew he was scared, was having trouble pretending otherwise and keeping up the facade of strength. He also felt it in her, which is why he had called her on it. In the embrace, they shared the fear, and the comfort of each other's arms gave them a little more strength to keep going.

Then finally, knowing she couldn't stay there forever, Scully pulled back a little.

"She'll be all right," she said, taking a deep breath. "We all will be. It's just ... been a long, horrible day."

He nodded. His hand was still embedded in her hair. When she met his soft eyes, something in her heart melted, and she leaned up to kiss him. He met her halfway. The kiss was a lingering one, as gentle as their fragile states. Neither were in any condition to deepen it, and after several long seconds, they separated.

"But this uh ... this medication," he said, letting go of her and reaching for the bucket. "It'll stop her vomiting, allow her to eat again?"

"Yes," Scully said, picking up the glass of water. "She should improve now."

He looked relieved, glad that they had Monica on a path to recovery and that there was now hope.

She went to take a step, but his hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"And you?" he asked, looking at her, his eyes probing.

Scully avoided his eyes. She knew he was asking how she was, but couldn't fathom how to answer it.

"One second at a time, Mulder," she said finally, meeting his eyes with a pleading look for him to drop it, because being constantly asked only made her own mind wonder the same thing, and consequently she found herself going over and over everything again, trying to take in the whole situation and tie it up in one neat reply. The truth of the answer was more than she could handle thinking about. She had settled for the fact that her immediate priority of the day had been Monica, and she had fiercely ignored everything else. In an odd way, Monica's illness had been her saviour, because Scully's love and fear for her friend had blocked out all her grief and heartache, and channeled her energy into the one person who wasn't already gone, but _could _be saved.

"Scully, I think you should know I've invited Charlie to stay with us tonight."

Mulder's statement snapped her out of her thoughts.

"What?" she asked, eyes widening. "When?"

"When we were getting the car," he answered. He looked slightly wary of her reaction, but determined all the same.

"Why would you do that?" she asked. "Mulder, he's -"

"-your brother," Mulder said, cutting in.

She stared at him angrily, but he was equally determined, and stared right back.

"You need your family, Scully," he said gently. "He's a good man, you get along well, and it's going to put your mother a lot more at ease knowing someone in the family is here with you. Not to mention the fact that both John and Monica's parents want someone here as well, and given that Christi hardly slept last night and _needs _a break tonight, I think your brother is the logical choice."

It was true that Scully liked Charlie. His presence wasn't overpowering or sometimes intense like Bill's, or her mother's, but the fact that Mulder blatantly invited him without even asking her bothered her. It hadn't escaped her notice that he was steering her heavily toward her family, though she wondered at what the reasoning behind it was, and where this bizarre need to make them into the Brady Bunch was coming from. His concern was both touching and irritating, but at the same time she at least saw the reasoning in having someone else stay with them, and allowing Christi to get some much-needed sleep, and out of the remaining relatives, Charlie _was _the one who she would be most comfortable with.

"Give him a chance," Mulder said, cupping the side of her face with his hand. "They love you _so _much, Scully."

A sense of guilt grew within her. She had resolved on her first night back to make an effort with her family, but sometime during the following chaotic days, that resolution had dissolved. But, uncomfortably, she knew he was right. She looked up into his eyes, and gave the slightest nod. Then she returned her attention to the glass in her hand.

"I'm going to take this upstairs," she said, and headed for the doorway.

He followed her with the plastic bucket, but when they got to the doorway of John's bedroom, it was to see that Monica was already snug in his bed, her eyes closed and her breathing slow. John was standing beside the bed, watching her sleep, eyes moist, and showing no inclination to wanting to leave her alone.

Scully paused in the doorway, the broken look on his face making her feel like an intruder. But she was also unable to turn away. Beside her, Mulder also hesitated.

At last, he noticed them, his head turning so she got a full view of the tears in his eyes, glittering in the light, ready to fall.

Her heart broke. She moved into the room, set the glass of water down on the bedside table for when Monica woke, and then reached for him. She grasped one hand in hers, and put her other arm around his back.

"Come on," she said softly. "Let her sleep."

He let her lead him to the doorway. She glanced over her shoulder to see Mulder putting the bucket down on the carpet beside the bed. He then hurried back to them, switched the light off, and pulled the door closed as Scully led John out into the hallway.

His tears fell.

XXX

Christi knocked on the bathroom door. She knew John was inside. Dana and Mulder had said he was there, getting changed out of the black suit he had worn to the funeral. But when she had waited ten minutes downstairs and he had still not emerged, she decided to check on him.

"John, it's me," she said, knowing he would recognise her voice.

Her hand gripped the gold door handle, but she waited for his voice before turning it.

"Come in," he said, after a short wait. His voice was flat and monotone, and her heart clenched with painful anticipation of what she was going to find inside the room.

She slowly turned the handle and pushed open the door. Her eyes found him slumped against the wall of the bath, his knees arched, and his elbows perched on them, forearms hanging in the direction of the white tiles of the floor. His eyes were teary and staring blankly ahead at the toilet. His chest heaved from silent crying, and the fact that he was still dressed in the suit - and there were no other clothes lying around ready - told her that the story of changing clothes had been merely an excuse to get away from everyone downstairs.

He seemed determined to not look up at her as she entered, but she was okay with that. This was far from being the first time she had seen him cry. She had seen him in this position many times before, eight years ago, when Luke had been murdered. He had seen her in the same position once or twice, too, and it was this that made him so comfortable with her presence now. She knew he wouldn't be anywhere near at ease if it had been anyone else standing in the doorway, but with her, it was old and familiar territory.

She closed the door quietly behind her and made her way over to him, kneeling facing him, beside his knees. She didn't speak at first, knowing from experience that often silence was a better tactic. Instead, she reached out a hand and put it on his shoulder, fingers squeezing and rubbing gently through the black jacket.

More tears slipped down in response to the comfort she offered. They slipped down his cheeks, making paths of salt water as they went, and after several long, silent moments, he tore his eyes away from the toilet and met hers. In them she saw a heartbroken expression.

"She's so thin," he said, voice breaking.

He made no move to explain to her who he was referring to. Christi knew from the reference of "thin" that it had to be either Dana or Monica, and from the way he was falling apart in front of her eyes, she knew it was Monica.

"Of course she's thin," Christi said calmly, her hand still moving on his shoulder. "She's been through a lot."

"You can see her bones, ribs pokin' out through her skin." He moved one hand to his own rib cage, gesturing as he spoke. "Her collarbone ... her shoulder blades ... juttin' out ..."

"Yes, you can," Christi admitted. "But it's temporary. She'll be back to her usual self in no time."

But he didn't look convinced, and the tears kept slipping out from his eyes, trailing their way down his wet cheeks. His eyes moved wildly around the room. Christi tightened her grip on his shoulder, and moved her other hand to one of his knees.

"John, listen to me," she said gently. "We got the medication on our way home. Both Dana and the doctor said that would control the nausea. We just need to let her sleep a while, and when she wakes, get a good meal and some of those tablets into her, and she'll be perfectly fine."

There was a long pause. She was expecting him to collapse into tears, and was poised, ready to catch him when he did, but the seconds stretched on and he remained on the verge.

"Do you ever think about it?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper. "About Luke?"

Her breath caught in her throat. She swallowed, weighing up her choices and wondering which was the right response. The conversation had suddenly become much harder, her heart heavier, and as his stricken eyes searched hers she suddenly knew there was only one answer she could give.

"Yes, I think about him," she said. "I always will."

It was no lie. She had loved Luke, and even though the precious memories they all had of him were beginning to fade as the years passed, he never left her. She still saw him sometimes in the kids at her school. Some of the younger blonde boys especially reminded her of him, and when seeing them from behind as she patrolled the playground during breaks she sometimes even thought it was him. And when the child turned around, and ran off with his friends, she saw it wasn't him, remembered again that he was dead, and was left with only her imagination for what could have been, left to calculate how old he would be if the tragedy had never struck ...

"I think about what Tara said," he said, eyes becoming more and more pained. "About it being a pain you just learn to live with. I think about what all of us went through that year, what Dana and Mulder have each suffered in their pasts ... and I think she's right. I don't think it stops hurtin'. I don't think Mulder's ever forgotten about how he lost his sister. I don't think Dana's shaken off the memory of her cancer, or her abduction. I think it still hurts them both every day. Like it hurts me."

"_Us_," she corrected automatically, reminding him that he wasn't the only one in the family who had been hurt by the experience. Luke had been her nephew, their parents' grandson, and then there was Barbara and all of her relatives who had suffered it too. "And that might be true. It might hurt. But it doesn't make life not worth living. I think if you'd thought it wasn't worth it, you would never have made such an effort to come back."

He shook his head, looking as though he hardly heard what she had said, or wasn't interested. More tears continued to flow ...

"She doesn't deserve it," he said, shaking his head as he cried. "All she's done is help. Just been there. Saved our lives ..."

"No one deserves it," Christi said.

His face began to scrunch up. His head fell back against the wall of the bath. "She's so thin ..."

And then he was crying. Fully crying, noisy sobs wracking his body, and his head falling to the side as though the weight of his pain was going to tip him over. Christi leaned forward and gently urged him into her arms. His wet face pressed itself against the shoulder of her black jacket. She put one hand to the back of his head, fingers in his short spiky hair, and looped her other arm around his back, feeling him convulse as he sobbed.

"_Shhh_," she said, holding him.

Then there was another soft knock at the door, and Dana's concerned voice came through. "John, you okay?"

Christi knew she could hear him crying, and made no effort to lie.

"We just need a minute, Dana," Christi said.

She heard the footsteps retreat further up the hall, in the direction of John's room, and was grateful. Part of her was also amused, touched by the sixth sense these four people shared; Dana's instinct that something had been wrong and which had carried up the stairs to check. But she cast the thought aside as her brother continued to cry in her arms.

"John," she said, talking softly in his ear, "I know you love her." She paused briefly, wondering if it might be the wrong time to make him realise that. "We _all _love her. And that's all we need to do. Just keep loving her, keep being there for her, and everything'll be fine."

He continued to sob, and Christi stayed with him, the two of them not talking. But she knew from the way he had gradually calmed that her last words had reached him somehow, and after another five minutes he pulled away, wiping his eyes with his fingers. Christi reached for the box of tissues someone had left on the sink, grabbed a few, and handed them to him to wipe his eyes and blow his nose.

"You gonna be okay now?" she asked, rubbing his upper arm.

"Yeah," he said, nodding. "You go on. I'll be out in a minute."

She kissed him on the cheek, and then stood, letting herself out and closing the door behind her. One hand still on the handle, she leaned her head back against the door, staring at the door to the spare room opposite, and smiling to herself. The grin that she had been holding back the entire time in the bathroom overtook her, and it was a few seconds before she realised Dana was watching her, standing nearby at the top of the stairs. She had one eyebrow raised, and as Christi guiltily tried to haul her smile back in, she saw the corner of Dana's mouth turn upwards, as though she knew _exactly _what had happened.

Still struggling to keep a straight face, Christi made her way over to her.

"Monica okay?" she asked.

"She'll be fine," Scully replied calmly. "We just need to keep an eye on her, check on her every hour or so."

She drifted off. Christi had mastered the art of keeping a straight face, but Dana was still eyeing her with that knowing look.

"How's John?" she asked finally, looking to the bathroom door.

Christi smiled, now knowing for sure they were on the same page.

"John is ..." She paused, considering her options.

Dana was already nodding, smiling back at her.

"... even further gone than I thought."

XXX

Scully walked down the stairs with Christi, her joy turning into a thoughtful silence. It was easy to recognise how John and Monica felt about each other. Scully had seen it in them for months, at least since Monica's car accident, and maybe even before. In Monica it had been obvious, as Monica never bothered to hide her feelings about anyone or anything. Scully had seen the odd moments when she had gazed at him from across the X-Files office, and the way she had cried when John had been in his coma. But John, however, was more skilled at hiding his emotions. It wasn't until she had witnessed him at the hospital after Monica's accident that she had even realised he felt the same way about her. She had thought then that things would be resolved between the two of them. But no, he had run, pulled the steel cover back over his heart and Scully had endured another six months of watching her friend's heart ache. Six long months that had ended with the plane crash. Since then, the relationship between John and Monica had become closer every second. But did they realise it? She was sure Monica did. Even with all the stresses of everything else, Monica's heart was still fully operational and her mind just as sharp as ever. But she hid it, because it was John' s move and she had enough to deal with without being rejected by him. John meanwhile ... Scully couldn't help thinking that his crying was the beginning of a powerful realisation. Whether or not he would do something about it, was another matter.

The living room was empty except for Mulder. Christi went to join her parents in the kitchen, but neither Scully's own family, nor Monica's parents had yet arrived. Thanks to the new information from Mulder, she knew her own family would be slightly delayed if they stopped off at her mother's place so Charlie could pick up a few things. She had also heard Monica's parents were stopping off at her apartment to pick up her coat, so she would not have to wear Christi's. So alone, she headed for the couch where Mulder was sitting.

"How is he?" Mulder asked, slumped back in the couch with his socked feet on the coffee table. To Scully, he looked thoroughly worn out.

"In tears," she replied, leaning back and putting her hands in her lap.

"He's taking it badly."

It was a conclusion, not a question, but Scully nodded anyway.

"Like a knife to the heart," she said.

There was a short silence. Eventually, she heard him emit a deep sigh.

"Well I don't know if there's anything we can do for him, other than do our best to be a comfort."

"I think he'll be all right. Monica's out like a light, but she'll be fine, and she emerges he'll come 'round too."

"I predict it'll be morning before that happens."

"Could be," Scully admitted, sighing herself. Monica was practically comatose, and whatever she had said about only napping for an hour or two, Scully was more inclined to think it would be a long sleep. It would be at least eight hours, she was so exhausted, and probably a few more on that for her to recover from what her body had been through.

They lapsed into silence. Scully could hear the soft voices of Christi talking with her parents in the kitchen, no doubt explaining what had happened. But the longer the silence crawled on, the heavier Scully's heart became. There was so much to deal with, so much to think about, and silences that forced her to mind to retreat to its thoughts were her worst enemy. She knew this was the case for Mulder, too, who always preferred activity over idleness. She reached for his hand, needing his comfort, and wanting to bring him out of his own thoughts, and preferably out of his defeated posture, too. But just as their fingers curled warmly together she heard footsteps on the stairs, and turned her head to see John slowly making his way down. He was still in his black suit, tie loose, but walked with a dejected posture. His eyes were also red from crying, and his cheeks were wet with the trails of his tears.

Scully's heart broke. She felt Mulder freeze next to her, and then he sprung into action, getting up and crossing to him at the foot of the stairs. As Scully joined them, Mulder already had his hand on John's shoulder, and John reluctantly met his eyes.

"You okay?" Mulder asked, squeezing his shoulder.

"Yeah," John replied.

"You know she'll be all right," Mulder said. "She'll bounce back before you know it."

"It's all over now, John," Scully put in. She was referring to Monica's illness, Follmer's funeral, and Monica's down emotions.

John, however, took it the wrong way.

"It'll never be over, Dana," he said flatly. Then he turned away to meet his family, who had appeared from the kitchen.

Scully stayed put, a little hurt and surprised by his cold shoulder attitude.

"Ooph," came the noise from Mulder's throat, and he shifted to his other foot, turning around.

But Scully watched as Anne hugged her son, held him without a word, and after a few seconds, a fresh wave of sobs broke out from John. He was crying against her shoulder.

Her heart broke further. It felt like she had a ball of lead in her chest, she felt so heavy. There was the distinct feeling of hot tears behind her eyes, and then Mulder's gentle hands landing on her shoulders from behind ...

And then the doorbell rang.

Christi hurried past to answer it, and a moment later Scully heard the voices of her family. The door thudded closed again, but the voices did not come closer. Instead they faded into whispers. There was the gentle tones of Christi's voice amongst them.

Anne retreated to the kitchen with John and her husband. Scully, her body too heavy to stand any longer, returned to the couch and sat down, putting her head in her hands, covering her eyes. The couch sank beside her and she knew it was Mulder joining her. His large hand was soon on the small of her back, rubbing softly, though half-heartedly as he felt the full weight of everything just as she did, and was also too down to be of much comfort.

She heard them enter the room not long after, her mother's confident footsteps, the hesitant ones of the others. Scully did not bother to emerge from her hands.

"Dana, are you okay?" her mother asked, sitting down on her other side. Mulder's hand left her back, and it was replaced immediately by her mother's warm, comforting arm.

"Yeah, I'm okay," she said quietly, trying to pull herself together. She removed her hands from her face and sighed, but focused her eyes ahead on the coffee table, not wanting to risk meeting anyone's eyes.

There was a silence. A silence much too long and awkward for Scully's liking.

"I think we should eject that word from your vocab," Charlie said eventually.

"And all its synonyms," Bill added. She heard him sit down on the couch opposite. "Of course, forgive us for thinking that surviving a plane crash, watching eighteen people die, having to live off their bodies, getting buried in an avalanche, nearly dying yourselves, and surviving only to face mass harassment, a week of funerals, and watch one of your best friends collapse would have some kind of negative effect on you." He paused. "Or maybe you're just cold-hearted enough that it doesn't?"

"Bill, don't -"

"Don't what?" he demanded. "Don't tell the truth?"

"Well what do you want me to say?" she said angrily. "Do you want me to pour my heart out just so you can know what it's like to watch your colleagues die? What it was like to know that you're never going to see anyone you love ever again? What it was like to have to make the choice to eat your colleagues, to feel the taste of their flesh in your mouth? To have to swallow? Do you want to know how it feels to hug someone goodbye only to find them frozen to death an hour later? Do you need to know what that _looks _like?"

"Dana -" Tara began kindly, perched on the armrest beside Mulder with her arm around him, but Scully cut her off.

"Because if that's what you're after, then I suggest you return to San Diego."

"Dana, this has nothing to do with us being curious!" Bill said, looking at her with disbelief. "It's about _you_, about you getting through this. They told us over and over to listen to you, to let you talk, but it's a little hard when you're so busy building your fortress and locking us out in the cold."

"I'm _fine_," she said firmly, staring him right in the eyes.

"You're not fine!" Bill said, springing to his feet. "And frankly we're all sick of hearing that you are! You're not sleeping, you're having nightmares, you can't bear to be out of the company of your friends. You're thinner than we've ever seen you, even when you were dying of cancer. You look as though you're always close to tears, can't bear to face the world or anyone in it. Are you even aware that you're crying _now_?"

No, she had not been aware, but as he spoke she realised the hot tears that had brewed at seeing John cry were now streaming down her face.

She recovered quickly. In a fit of pure hatred for her brother, she sprang to her feet to meet him. Her mother's stiff hand dropped from her back.

"Bill, do you have even the vaguest notion of how painful it is to go through all that? Don't you know that it was this exact pain that took out the man whose funeral we attended today? That took out the woman whose funeral we're attending _tomorrow_?"

He stared at her.

Charlie, standing nearby, said gently, "We can't know if you don't tell us."

There was a silence. Scully was vaguely aware that all four of the Doggetts had moved to stand nearby.

"I think you're wrong, Dana," her mother said softly. She got to her feet and stood next to her. "It wasn't the pain that killed them. It was a refusal to admit to it. Maybe things would be different if they had."

Scully could not find a reply; she was thinking of Holly sneaking off into the night, of Follmer refusing to talk to them, insisting on running away. She felt Mulder's hand reach forward from his sitting position to grasp hers. She felt her mother's hand on her shoulder. But she felt frozen, and didn't respond to either as the realisation that her mother was right snapped through every argument she had been thinking of making. She looked away from Bill, wanted suddenly to bolt from the room where no one was staring silently at her. But she didn't. Her feet were locked onto the one spot of carpet.

"I don't want to lose you to it too," her mother pleaded. Her voice wavered. She was on the verge of crying.

Scully saw Holly's dead body in the snow, Follmer's body bleeding into the whiteness as Monica became hysterical nearby ... the heaviness clamped down on her chest. She couldn't breathe ...

"It hurts so much, Mom," she whispered, and fell, tears flowing, into her mother's waiting arms.

"I know, Dana," her mother whispered in her ear, as she pulled them both back down onto the couch. Scully cried helplessly into her mother's shoulder, felt like a child again in the security of her mother's comforting arms, being rocked back and forth and finding it soothing.

Through her tears, in the shocked silence beyond, she heard John say angrily to Bill, "You happy now?" But the only response was from Anne, who said, "_John_" and calmed him down before Bill had even pulled himself together to retort.

She cried for several minutes, her mother kissing her cheek and stroking her hair, rubbing her back and whispering kind words in her ear. The rest of the room remained silent. As she began to rein in her sobs she hoped frantically that their shouting hadn't woken Monica. But there were no sounds from upstairs, and apparently Monica had slept through it. When they separated she saw Bill had sat down, Charlie next to him. Tara was still with Mulder, who had let loose a few stray tears, her breaking heart simultaneously snapping his. Christi had pushed John down into an armchair and was sitting on the armrest, hand on his arm, as though still ready to restrain him. Anne and Jack were still standing.

"Do you feel up to talking?" her mother asked, rubbing her knee now.

Scully hesitated.

"Why don't you tell us about a gentle subject?" Anne suggested shrewdly. "About Monica."

"Monica?" Scully repeated, surprised.

"You've all hinted several times that she was the reason you survived," Christi said, rubbing John's arm now. "But you've never said why."

"And now would be the ideal time," her mother added. "Now she's not here to flood us with modesty."

Scully knew full well what they were doing, but was happy to oblige all the same.

"It was during the hike out," Scully said. She paused as she remembered it: the slicing cold, the struggle to keep numb limbs walking, the endless white snow. But she had told them all that, those little details that didn't matter she had shared with her family in her apartment the first night back in Washington.

When she paused at the next sentence, however, Mulder took over.

"There was a point when we gave up," he said quietly, reaching for her hand, which Scully took. "The mountains were endless, as far as you could see. We would skirt around one only to be faced with a hundred more. It was disheartening. You felt like you were walking in circles. We were certain we were going to die. The cold was more than we could bear. We became sick in the stomach. We began to fight and argue with each other. And we'd lost so many people that death seemed inevitable for ourselves as well."

"I don't think you can imagine unless you'd been there," Scully said, glancing around. She felt nervous at telling them they had given up. Until now, they had been under the impression she had been a tough hero, and though she hated the title because it didn't apply, she was scared of what they would think of her, knowing she had made a choice to die and given up on returning to them.

"No, I think we can," Bill said kindly. "We've seen pictures on television of where you were. We saw all the snow, the peaks and the isolation. I think we can imagine how tough it was."

It was perhaps the kindest thing he had ever said to her, and Scully's heart warmed at the statement, at his roundabout way of telling her that he didn't think she was weak. She saw again how hard he was trying, not just in his words, but in his efforts to get along with Mulder, too. Her own meagre efforts, her loss of temper, felt suddenly shameful and she immediately decided to meet him halfway.

"But Monica didn't give up?" her mother asked.

"No, she didn't," Scully said. She was glad that her voice was stronger now. "She refused."

"Told us all to go to hell," John said. "Said she was gonna die on her feet."

"Ditched us," Mulder put in lightly. "She said she was going to hike out by herself and bring back help. By then she meant so much to us that we had no choice but to follow."

"She knew we would," John said, in an effort to explain. "It's why she did it."

"We'll have to thank her, then," Charlie said brightly.

Scully smiled at him. Her heart lighter, she leaned back in the seat again. Mulder squeezed her hand, and she squeezed it back.

"It wasn't just that, though," Mulder said, resuming the conversation. "Monica helped me pull Dana back when she slipped off the edge of a cliff. She dug both John and I out from the avalanche. She saved us all at least twice."

"No, it was more than that," Scully said thoughtfully. Her mind drifted back to other memories: Monica hugging Kim when they found Holly's body; Monica hugging her when they found Kim dead; Monica holding her all night after her nightmare, so she could get some sleep. "It was her strength of heart. Her sense of compassion, and love. She kept us sane. She was always first there when someone was crying. She was the first to recognise when something was wrong, when Follmer and Holly were struggling ... she was the first to give CPR when that agent began to die ..."

She stopped on that particular memory, and in her mind watched again as Kim and Monica gave him CPR for nearly an hour. Eventually, she had pried Monica away, knowing it was the best decision to give up, that even if he were in a hospital, the doctors would not move to save him ...

"You did the right thing, Dana," John said firmly, looking her straight in the eye.

"Yeah, I know," she said softly. But still her heart wondered ...

She could tell her family were wondering what they were referring to, and was glad when they didn't ask. Of course, she knew both Bill and Charlie would probably have it all worked out already. Charlie, especially, was a lot more intelligent than he liked to let on, and she knew that in his place, she would have enough information to put two and two together.

Scully sighed deeply. She let her eyes drift onto the coffee table. She felt Mulder's fingers begin to move over hers again, in his usual patterns of comforting restlessness.

In the break of conversation, Tara got up and moved to her black handbag sitting beside the couch. She dug around for a while, exchanged a look with Bill, and then approached her, sitting on the coffee table and leaning forward with two folded sheets of paper in her hand.

"There's something we want to give you," Tara said. She pushed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, smiling with joy and hesitance. "We don't know if it will help, given how you're feeling, but the kids sent these along."

She held out the pieces of paper. Scully sat up again, pulled away from Mulder, and gently took them from Tara's outstretched hand. She unfolded the sheets and saw they were two computer drawings done in a kids' graphics program and printed out on a colour printer. The first was from Matthew. The words "I LOVE YOU AUNT DANA" were typed in the centre in huge black letters. Beneath was a blue love heart, and then the remainder of the page was covered with small pictures: one drawing of all the family, one of herself with Mulder, John and Monica, one of her hiking across a snowy mountain, and the last simply of herself, Matthew and Lizzie. Tears appeared in Scully's eyes as she stared at it. Slowly, she pulled the second sheet out from underneath. Lizzie, only three, was not yet as able when it came to drawing on a computer, but the sheet was still immensely heart-warming to Scully. Across the top of the page the words "I LOVE YOU, FROM LIZZIE" were written in bright pink, and covering the rest of the page were stamped love hearts of pink, red, orange and yellow - all the colours of warmth, like an autumn sprinkling of love hearts. In the centre, on top of the hearts, was a clumsy drawing of the family, and someone had helped her type everyone's names below their bodies, showing who was who.

"My God ..." Scully breathed, holding one page in each hand. A quick glance up showed her everyone was beaming.

She felt a tear slip out of her eye and down her cheek. Her breath caught in her lungs.

"They're staying with Tara's parents," Bill supplied. "They helped them do these on the computer and e-mailed them through to us at Mom's."

Scully was still lost for words. She was faintly aware that she was crying again, but her heart felt so light that she didn't care. All the pain of her day suddenly left her as she gazed at the messages of love from her niece and nephew. She could tell from the details of the drawings that they had meant it, that it was not just a task they had been forced into doing by Tara's parents. They really loved her. They admired her. They didn't think she was an idiot, or a crying fool, but someone to look up to. A role model. They were actually proud to have her as an aunt. And suddenly, her own few trips to visit out in San Diego felt utterly pathetic. She felt she didn't deserve such love, did not deserve to be related to two such extraordinary children.

She looked up at Tara, but was lost for words.

"I know," Tara said, smiling. She reached forward and patted Scully's knee, and Scully's heart was suddenly wonderfully light, and she felt that maybe now she could get through this day after all.

XXX

"You sure you three are all right down here?" Charlie asked, talking over his shoulder as he put another log on the fire to keep them warm.

The living room was in darkness now. The sun had set hours ago, and the only light was a few beams shining down from the hallway upstairs, and that glowing from the fireplace. Satisfied the fire would burn slowly till morning, he shut the door and turned around on his knees, to where Mulder, John, and Dana were preparing to go to sleep amongst three pillows and a mountain of woollen blankets. He himself would be sleeping in John's second spare room upstairs. He did not mind this, as he knew the survivors needed their time alone, and knew Dana was still adjusting to his presence. Then he too, needed time to get his head around everything, and the last thing he wanted to do was to muck it all up by overcrowding them and making them only more awkward and uncomfortable.

"We're fine," Dana said softly.

She was sitting against the side of an armchair, cross-legged, her hair brushing against the armrest behind her. She had changed into her deep blue satin pyjamas, but Charlie could see she was wearing a white singlet top underneath for warmth, and her feet were cosily covered in thick fluffy white socks. Her expression was downcast, from both a tired body and a heavy heart, but she still looked much better than she had a few hours ago. She held a pillow in her lap, and was playing with the corner while watching Mulder and John spread out the blankets on the carpet in front of the fire.

Charlie took a moment to consider their states, too. Both looked as exhausted as his sister, especially John. But then, to Charlie, John had looked half dead nearly all day, ever since Monica had fallen sick during the church service. Of the four survivors, Mulder was holding up best so far, but in his eyes was a weariness shared by the other two, and also a worry for Dana. Dana had not seen him cast her the worried looks as Charlie had witnessed him doing all evening. And every time Mulder had done this, it seemed to sadden him even further.

He shifted around Mulder and John, moving closer to his sister. Both of the men glanced at him, glanced at Dana, and slowed their movements as they unfolded the blankets and lined them all up, making a simple task into a huge operation to give Charlie a moment and pretend they weren't watching.

But he didn't know what to say. He wanted to ask what was wrong, but knew that was a stupid question under the circumstances. Everything was wrong. She was struggling under the weight of a thousand memories she didn't want, and perhaps still the absence of Monica, which seemed to have had a bizarre psychological impact on all three of them. He was only beginning to understand it. John, of course, was in love with Monica. Or so Tara and his mom both claimed, anyway. But it still had had an effect on Mulder and Dana. It had seemed to rob them of their strength. From the bits and pieces they had mentioned earlier, it sounded to Charlie as if Monica had been a constant source of spirit on the mountain, and now to see her sick and weak was depressing them, perhaps opening their eyes to the dangers of what could happen to themselves, and how much they had relied on her to keep them all afloat.

Unsure what to do, he reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. He expected her to stiffen under his touch, perhaps shake him off, but she didn't. She raised her blue eyes to meet his and she sighed.

"Why don't you try for some sleep?" he suggested.

She nodded, and got up on her knees, dragging the pillow beside her as she made her way over to Mulder. He immediately put his arm around her upper back and kissed her temple, and then the two of them moved under the blankets beside John.

"If any of you can't sleep, have problems of any kind, whether you feel ill, or upset, or have nightmares, you come wake me. I'm not here to just add decoration to the place."

"Thanks," John said, nodding. He still had traces of tears in his eyes.

"And don't worry about Monica," he said. "I'll play nurse, keep an eye on her for you."

"Don't wake her," Dana said, raising her eyes quickly.

"I won't," he said. "Though personally I think you could fire a cannon across the bed and still not wake her."

She threw him a look, and Charlie immediately reminded himself that she wasn't in the mood for humour. He would have to keep things straight tonight.

"I'll look after her," he reassured them, as John also looked unsure. "Don't worry. You just take care of yourselves."

This seemed to calm them, and John and Mulder began to settle, lying down. His sister, however, was still sitting up, and as their eyes connected a distinct awkwardness engulfed them.

"You know," he began, "Bill didn't mean to hurt you."

"I know," she said. "In fact, he was probably right this time."

"I won't tell him you said that, or he'll want it in writing," Charlie said, remembering his resolution all too late.

But she smiled, and the tiredness in her eyes momentarily evaporated.

Then she said, "Come here", and held out an arm to him.

He gladly hugged her, and was even more glad when she hugged him back. After a second he pulled back.

"I mean it that I want you to wake me if you need me," he said. "I imagine nights would be the hardest time for you right now, alone with your thoughts ..."

She nodded. Her smile faded and he knew he'd hit one hell of a nerve, but she recovered, and said, "I will."

He nodded goodnight to Mulder, who already looked comfortable and had one hand on Dana's hip ready to pull her down beside him, and then to John, who didn't even look close. He still looked lost, out of place and like he wasn't going to sleep a wink.

"It's going to be fine, John," he said, hoping he sounded gentle. "She's only asleep upstairs, not six foot under."

But John didn't reply. Mulder reached out an arm and tried to comfort him, but the traces of tears in John's eyes didn't disappear, and as Dana settled herself under the blankets, Charlie left with a feeling that perhaps he should just get it over with and go wake the woman, carry her downstairs, and put her back to sleep next to them. Then, maybe, they could get on with things.

XXX

When Monica woke, it was to find she was lying on her stomach, her face buried between the two soft pillows. Slowly she opened her eyes and rolled over onto her back, stretching her aching legs out as she did. She looked at the digital clock and with a start saw that it read 12:17 AM. She had slept hours longer than she had intended. For a moment she wondered whether the clock was right, but a second later knew it had to be, for there was no sunlight coming from around the blinds, and the house was silent. A surge of guilt at leaving her friends alone for so long erupted within her. She had told them two hours at the most.

"Shit," she said, pushing herself up into a sitting position. She went to pull the covers back but stopped as she heard the bedroom door opening.

"John?" she asked. FBI instinct forced her to freeze on the spot, and she wished she hadn't surrendered her gun to Jana Cassidy.

"Charlie," the voice corrected, and a dark shadow crossed the carpet toward her. There was the click of the bedside lamp and then a glow spread over the room. Monica blinked, squinting in the light, and then saw that sure enough, Charles Scully was standing beside the bed, dressed in a grey t-shirt and loose black boxers, and smiling down at her with amusement.

"Sorry to disappoint," he said, "but your knight in shining armour's fast asleep."

Monica nodded automatically, her mind merely wondering what Charlie was still doing in the house. She thought he would have left, gone back to Dana's mother's place by now with the rest of the family. The fact that he hadn't was worrying.

"Is Dana all right?" she asked, her mind instantly filling with horrible visions of her having had a breakdown. "Did something happen?"

"No, she's fine ..." he trailed off, looking confused. Then realisation dawned. "No one told you I was staying the night."

"No," Monica said.

"Oh," he said, then shrugged. "Well I am. Mulder asked me, wanted to give Christi a chance to sleep."

"Waste of time, really," came a voice, and Monica looked up again to see Christi entering the room, dressed in her pink butterly pyjamas, her blonde hair ruffled as if she had turned over a thousand times, unable to sleep.

"How are you feeling?" Christi asked, stopping beside Charlie. She had her arms crossed, hands tucked into her armpits for warmth.

"I feel okay," Monica replied. She couldn't help feeling a little surprised at all the attention she was getting. She had only been awake a few seconds and already both of them had appeared.

"Good, we've been worried," Christi said. "We've been checking on you every hour."

"We promised the worrywarts downstairs we'd keep an eye on you," Charlie explained.

Monica immediately felt guilty. "They've been worried? Why?"

"Because they love you," Christi said, smiling. "Though after last night and today I can't blame them for being concerned." She nodded down to the floor and Monica followed her gaze to see the black bucket was sitting there. "I'm glad to see you haven't been sick again."

"Yeah, well I've been asleep," Monica said, yawning a little and stretching her limbs again. She pushed back the covers and slowly swung her legs out so she was sitting on the edge of the bed. Immediately her bare legs and arms felt the freezing air of the night. She felt goosebumps appearing on her skin and she shivered.

The smiles on Christi and Charlie's faces fell.

"Geez," Christi said. "We'd better get you downstairs into the warmth."

"Think you can walk?" Charlie asked, reaching for her elbow to help her to her feet.

"I think so," she said.

Christi took her other arm and with the help of the two of them Monica stood. For a second she felt a little dizzy and her legs a little weak, but then she trialed a small step forward and was glad that her legs supported her just fine, and she had no problems balancing. Charlie, seeing this, let go of her arm and instead picked up the bucket and the glass of water from the bedside table.

"Come on," Christi said, and still keeping hold of her elbow, led Monica out into the hallway. Charlie followed a step behind.

"How were they tonight?" Monica asked, keeping her voice low.

For the first time since Monica had met her, Christi looked awkward.

"A little down," she admitted finally. "They cried a while, but they were all right in the end."

Monica had another question on the tip of her tongue, but it was distracted out of her by Charlie's next statement.

"They told us all about how you saved their lives," Charlie said. "How you kept them going on the hike out, saved John and Mulder from the avalanche. Dana said it was your 'strength of heart' that kept everyone going."

Monica stopped walking at the top of the stairs and turned to Charlie.

"She said that?"

"Cross my heart," he said.

Monica felt touched, and a warm fuzziness took hold of her heart. She couldn't help smiling, but at the same time, wasn't sure it was deserved.

"I don't suppose she told you about all the times _she _saved someone?" Monica asked Charlie. "How she saved _my _life?"

"No, she's never been any good at boasting," he replied. "I'll have to trust we're going to get that half of things from you."

Monica smiled, but looked away. _Maybe_, she thought. But still the memory of being stripped naked by her friends and being thrown under blankets with John felt too personal to share with Charlie and Christi. There was just something so private about it. But, she thought, she perhaps could tell them about other things, tell the Scullys about how good Dana had been when the plane had first crashed, for instance.

She began walking again, and as she descended the stairs with Christi she looked over the railing to the room below. It was dark, hard to see, but someone - presumably Charlie - had kept the fire going and its glow illuminated her three friends lying on the floor in front of it. John and Mulder were both in a deep sleep, and for an instant Monica thought Dana was, too. She was curled into Mulder's side, one arm across his chest and one leg over his, but as Monica reached the bottom of the stairs Dana blinked several times, craned her head up, and when their eyes made contact, began to disentangle herself from Mulder.

"Monica," she said, hurrying over.

Her voice emitted waves of relief and before Monica could say anything Dana's arms were around her neck and hugging her tight. Monica smiled widely as she returned the hug, Dana's red hair tickling the side of her face. With Dana not wearing heels, Monica found the height difference more noticeable than usual. Her friend was on tiptoe, and Monica kept an arm firm around her waist to help her keep her balance. When Dana at last pulled away, she still kept hold of Monica's right hand, and her blue eyes were shining with relief.

"Come into the kitchen," she said. "You need to eat something."

Monica hesitated, looked over again at John's sleeping form and her heart sank, wishing he was awake too. She wanted to feel his relief as well, feel his arms squeezing her, and be able to look into his eyes and know he was all right, because although Charlie had changed the subject before Monica had had the opportunity to ask, she had still caught Christi's hesitance over her question as to how her friends were. She wondered what had happened. It was obvious Dana had not yet slept, but that was fairly usual for her. But John ... he was flat on his back, head in the pillow and mouth slightly open. He had pushed down the blankets to his waist, and one of his bare arms was lying across his abdomen.

Monica sighed.

"You want to wake him?" Dana asked, holding her hand gently.

"No," Monica replied, and hastily pulled herself together. But as she turned back to continue their trip toward the kitchen, she saw a knowing look in Dana's eye, and her stomach squirmed uncomfortably at being caught.

The slightest smile crossed Dana's face, but she said nothing, only squeezing Monica's hand and giving another small tug to get her to keep walking. When they neared the sliding doors of the kitchen, Monica glanced over her shoulder again to see that Christi was kneeling beside John's sleeping form. She took the edge of the thick blanket and pulled it carefully back over him, up to his shoulders.

"Come on," Dana said, and Monica was aware that she was staring again, and that Dana was smiling wider than before.

She swallowed and followed her into the kitchen. Christi joined them a second later, and then Charlie, who entered with Monica's red dressing gown in his hands.

"Your parents dropped this off with your coat," he explained, handing it to her while Dana slid the kitchen doors shut.

Monica took it, but her mind filled with fear at the fact that her parents would have driven all the way out, only to find her asleep.

"Were they angry?" she asked, searching all their faces.

"About what?" Christi asked, immediately looking worried.

"That I was asleep."

Christi smiled. "No, not at all. They understood perfectly, thought a good rest was just what you needed. They dropped off a few things for you, insisted on paying us back for your medication, then left again to pay some outstanding bills for your apartment. Apparently they opened all your mail."

"They made us promise that we'd call if you woke, but obviously we didn't need to," Charlie said.

The fact that they had gone through all her mail didn't bother Monica at all. As far as she was concerned it was a relief and one less mundane task she had to worry about herself. There was nothing personal that ever arrived to her by post, and as for them paying her bills, that was a blessing. She had not even thought about that side of things.

She stayed lost in thought for a moment, calculating the likely costs of all her overdue expenses, but then Dana stepped in front of her and brought her back to reality.

"Put it on," she said, indicating the dressing gown in her hands.

"Oh," Monica said, looking down at it. "Right."

She wrapped it around herself, tying it at the waist, and her goosebumpy arms and legs felt the relief of the warm fuzzy cloth. She then sat down in the kitchen chair that Dana pulled out for her.

"I have to say I'm impressed, Monica," Christi said, passing her a fresh glass of water. "You slept eight hours and your hair's still perfect. There's not a single strand out of place."

Monica smiled as she took a sip of the water. The truth was there were so many pins in her hair, and it was so tight, that it couldn't have moved even if she'd thrashed around in a night terror.

"What would you like to eat?" Christi asked next, waving at the piles of food stacked around the kitchen. Evidently, someone had gone grocery shopping.

"Nothing much," Monica replied. "I'm not really hungry."

"Oh come on, midnight snack, be adventurous," Charlie said, smiling. "I'll keep you company."

"Sandwich?" Christi asked, holding up a bag of bread.

Monica shrugged.

Christi began to prepare her a salad sandwich, and Dana took the seat next to her with a blue paper bag in her hand. Monica knew her new medication must be inside it, and sure enough, when Dana's hand reached inside it emerged with two small boxes. But as Dana opened her mouth to speak, they were interrupted by the kitchen doors sliding open.

Her head spun around to see who their new visitor was, and her leapt as she saw John standing there, left hand still gripping the edge of the sliding door. His eyes ignored everyone else in the room, and instead bored into her own. Her heart thudded in her chest, even as she saw him take a deep breath. He looked like hell, she noticed. His hair, short though it was, was ruffled from a restless sleep. His white shirt was wrinkled and creased. But most of all, his eyes looked sore and his face old. She knew, without knowing exactly how, that he had been crying at some stage in the evening. Then she knew, too, from the intensity of his eyes pounding into her, that it had been about her.

The rest of the world faded as Monica pushed herself out of her seat and as he came charging toward her.

"_Monica_," he said, pulling her roughly into his arms and lifting her off her feet.

"_John_," she replied, with equal desperation, and threw her arms around his neck, pulling him so tight against her that not even another molecule would slip through between them. His hands roamed, as though checking every part of her body was real and alive; over her shoulderblades, down her spine, against her hip bone at each side, and then up again to the sides of her ribs, near her breasts ...

She buried her face in his neck, kissed him there, and felt relief at the strong and fast pulse she could feel against her lips. Trying to pull him even tighter, she kissed his neck again further around, as his hands stopped roaming and his arms crossed her back to simply hold her tight. They stayed like that for the longest time, until Monica forgot that there were three other people in the room, and the sudden sound of a drawer closing brought them both back to their senses.

He let go of her, and Monica slid her arms back from his neck.

"You scared us," he said roughly, hands cupping her face. There were tears in his eyes, but they were tears of joy now, not despair.

Monica, pure happiness rushing through her, could only grin.

"You were the one who suggested I go to sleep," she said, unable to keep a straight face.

"Doc's orders," he said, nodding to Dana at the table.

Monica remembered very well that it had been John's idea, and that Dana had only backed him up, but still she could only grin. A quick glance at Dana saw that the redhead was also grinning widely, her face lighting up in an amused smile Monica thought she didn't see often enough on Dana Scully. Especially now. But when Dana smile, she was radiant, and her blue eyes shone.

"Let her sit down, John," Christi said, breaking the moment as she slid a plate with a sandwich on it across the table. "We need to get some food into her before she ends up flat on the floor again."

John took this too much to heart, and Monica found him helping her back down into the chair. He stood behind her, hands on her shoulders, squeezing and massaging through the material of her dressing gown.

"Oh God," Monica moaned, closing her eyes. "That feels nice."

"_Eat_, Monica," Dana said, picking up one half of the salad sandwich and holding it up for her to take.

Monica took it and obediently took a bite, her mouth filling with a mix of tastes. But her mind was on John's hands.

She moaned again.

"You sound like you're about to orgasm," Charlie said, half laughing. He was leaning against the opposite bench, eating his own sandwich and grinning at her.

Monica felt herself go red.

"Do you mind?" Dana said, promptly throwing him a look.

"Sorry," he said. But his eyes showed he didn't regret it and he continued smiling.

There was a short silence as Monica forced herself to take another bite of food. She was glad that she didn't feel even remotely nauseous this time, but thought that was probably because she was do distracted by the soothing effect of John's hands.

"You thinkin' of undoin' your hair sometime tonight, Monica?" he asked suddenly.

"Yeah," she lied. "Eventually."

"I can pull it out for you if you like," Dana offered.

"Nah, I got it," John said, and his hands left her shoulders and travelled to the knot in her hair. Monica tried to keep her head still as she ate, allowing him to slowly find all the pins and pull them out. One by one, he lined them up on the table like an army.

"How many of these damn things did you put in?" he said after a minute of sliding them out.

"Enough to hold it in place," Monica answered, trying not to wince as he accidentally tugged on a strand of her hair and nearly ripped it out of her scalp.

There was silence as John continued to work, and as Monica continued to eat her sandwich. When she was nearly done, Dana slid the two boxes across to her. Monica saw her name, MONICA J REYES, printed on the side.

"Did Doctor Cheung explain the side effects of these to you?" Dana asked, her voice slipping into doctor mode.

"Yeah," Monica said, and struggled to remember that conversation from so many hours ago. "He said something about it making me cloudy in the head."

"Well, yes," Dana said, but with an air that she'd got it wrong. "Although that's not quite how I'd phrase it. Did he say anything else?"

She seemed to be fishing for something, but Monica had a hard time recalling the details of the conversation.

"I'm not sure," she said, as John pulled out another pin. "I can't really remember."

"Well the point is this dosage he's given you for these antidepressants is high by any standards," she said. "I'm not a hundred percent sure you're going to be able to handle it, to be frank. At the very least I expect it's going to make you feel a little off for a few days."

"I thought it was supposed to make her feel better?" John asked.

"It will, but her body will need a few days to adjust to the chemical change," she explained. She looked back to Monica. "If you experience any side effects you'll need to tell us. It may be simply a headache, nausea, or a lack of ability to concentrate, but you may also experience trouble sleeping, anxiety, loss of libido, or an inability to achieve an orgasm."

Monica felt suddenly uncomfortable. It was just like Dana that reel that off without flinching while she herself felt embarrassed. Not that it mattered anyway, she thought, as right now her sex life was non-existent, as was her interest in having one. With her heart so damaged and her head unable to focus on anything but her pain, she knew she would never be able to climb there anyway, even without the medication.

"_Christ_, Dana," Charlie said, "do you always wait for an audience to talk about your friends' sexual dysfunction?"

But Scully ignored him, her eyes bored into Monica's, and Monica realised suddenly that the move had been very deliberate. Her heart skipped a beat. It was not, she knew, for the benefit of a whole audience, but merely for the benefit of one person in particular, who was currently standing behind her, unknotting her hair, preserving her dignity by pretending he hadn't heard a thing ...

_God_, Monica thought, _the woman doesn't miss a damn thing. _

Several moments passed. Monica finished the sandwich, John finished unravelling her hair and took a seat at the table, and Dana looked pointedly toward the medication.

Monica opened the first box of anti-nausea drugs and popped a pill from the foil.

As she did, she heard a desperate cry from the next room.

"What the hell?" Christi said, and hurried to the doors, throwing them open and jogging out into the living room. Dana was half a step behind her, and Monica got to her feet, too, hurrying after them.

When they reached the fire it was to see that Mulder was in the full grip of a nightmare, thrashing around under the blankets, and making choking noises in his throat.

Dana dropped her knees beside him. She gripped one shoulder in each hand.

"_Shhh_," she said, trying to soothe him. "Mulder, it's all right. You're safe in John's house. We're all safe."

But the nightmare only intensified and he continued to thrash around against her hands.

Monica hurried to Mulder's other side, dropping to her knees on the blankets. She did not touch him straightaway, but observed him struggling, watched Dana stroking the side of his face and holding his shoulder, trying to stop him hurting himself.

"It's the avalanche," John said, panic in his voice.

"My God," Monica echoed. "He thinks he's buried."

And she knew the danger of what was going to happen a split second before it did. He struggled against the binds of the blanket wrapped around him, perceiving it as tonnes of snow suffocating him. And then, too, was the weight of Scully, leaning over him, practically straddling him, her pressure on his shoulders, holding him down ...

Monica made a grab for her as Mulder's arms swung up.

"Dana, get back!" she yelled.

But it was too late. Mulder's fist connected hard against Dana's stomach in a killer punch, and she toppled off him into a foetal position and was still.

* * *

_I must say I'm enjoying this whole DRR thing, had to restrain myself a bit from racing ahead. But all the same, I might have to take a slight detour now while I dedicate some time to some serious MulderGuilt. I can't let them sail through this too smoothly! _


	9. Chapter 9

_I hereby issue a warning for the content of this section. I think I might need to up my rating a little, as I'm not sure T quite covers it. _

* * *

**_Chapter Thirty-Four - The Perils of Post-Trauma Love (continued...)_**

"Dana!"

Monica shouted her friend's name as she leapt to her feet, jumped over Mulder's flailing body and limbs, and knelt behind Dana's curved back. On her other side Charlie skidded to his knees and put a hand on her shoulder. Out of the corner of her eye she saw John and Christi rushing to help Mulder. Again, Monica felt torn between the two people who needed her help, but she chose Dana, knowing John was the best person, possibly the only person, who could help Mulder, as John had also been buried in the avalanche.

John was shouting Mulder's name, Christi was yelling too, both trying to wake him up. But Monica's attention was focused on Dana. She was still in the foetel position, knees up rigidly to her torso, both arms frantically grasping her abdomen. Strands of her red hair had fallen over her face, but between them Monica could see her eyes were closed tight. Monica put her hand on Dana's hip bone, wanting to comfort her, but not daring to put her arms anywhere near her stomach.

"Dana?" Charlie said gently, strong hand holding her shoulder.

Dana's body was completely rigid, but as Monica watched she gasped for breath, her chest and abdomen jerking quickly as she took in a very painful breath. She winced, and then held her body stiff again.

"Dana," Monica said urgently, leaning over her. "Are you all right?"

She still didn't reply. Her lips parted slightly, but she could not shut down the pain long enough to speak.

"Dana, come on," Charlie said with fright, squeezing her shoulder. "Talk to us!"

"Do you need an ambulance?" Monica added. "Are you injured internally?"

"No," she gasped, voice faint. "I'm okay -"

Charlie looked as doubtful as Monica felt herself. She knew the place where Mulder had hit her was the worst place to receive an injury on the human body. The abdominal area contained the internal organs, and they were positioned so that there were no bones to protect them. As such, they were extremely vulnerable to injury.

As if sensing their doubt, she opened her eyes. She moved her head slightly, trying to glance over her own shoulder at Mulder behind them, but she could not complete the move and turned back, her stomach not wanting to twist itself around.

"Mulder?" she asked.

"He's okay," Monica said, after a quick glance around to see that he had stopped thrashing around, and was beginning to wake, under the care of John and Chrisit. "He's waking up now ..."

But far from relaxing her, the words only catapulted her into action. Her eyes widened slightly with panic, and one of her arms left her stomach to reach for the carpet. She began to push herself up.

"Don't move -" Charlie began.

"Help me," she said, struggling to sit up. "Don't let him see ..."

Monica grabbed her and held her still, stopping her in her tracks.

"Stay _still_," she said firmly.

"Just relax," Charlie said. "Lie back down."

She threw Charlie a look of impatience and continued to force herself into a sitting position. Monica knew very well that she was terrified of Mulder's reaction, his discovery that he had punched his lover in the stomach, but failed to see how bolting out of the room was going to help either party.

"He'll know anyway," Monica said softly, looking her in the eye.

"Just help me," she replied bluntly, her eyes hard.

Monica looked over her shoulder again and saw that Mulder was awake now. She heard him moan - he was clearly disoriented - but he was slowly coming back to the world. Christi had her hand on his forehead, John's were on Mulder's chest. As Monica's mind summed up the situation, John looked around back at her, Charlie and Dana, and his eyes were anxious.

"All right," Monica said, sighing with impatience as she gave in to her friends' fear. "Let's get you to the kitchen."

Dana looked relieved and reached out for her. Monica put her arm around her back.

"Here, let me," Charlie said, sighing himself. His expression was impatient, but he reached forward and took his sister from Monica's arms, lifting her up as he had after her faint outside the FBI. Monica stood with them.

"If Mom was here she'd kick your ass for this," he said flatly, as they moved through the gap in the sliding doors and into the kitchen. He gently sat her down on the edge of the table, her legs perched on the pulled out chair Monica had vacated not long before.

Monica pulled the sliding doors shut to buy her friend a few seconds of private recovery time before Mulder's mind figured out what he'd done.

"Mom's not here," Dana replied, removing her arm from around his shoulders and putting both arms back hard on her waist. She leaned forward again, head toward her knees, her red hair dangling.

Monica's heart broke, seeing how much pain she was obviously in. She crossed the floor and leaned against the table beside her friend, putting an arm around her back and holding her. Charlie's expression softened.

"Are you sure you aren't hurt?" he asked.

"I don't think so," she replied.

"Can you be positive?" Monica asked.

She was quiet for a moment as she appeared to consider it. One of her small, pale hands left her stomach to sneak under her blue pyjama top and the white singlet top underneath. Her clothes moved as the hand felt around her bare skin.

"Let's take a look," Monica said. The plate that had held Monica's salad sandwich was still sitting on the table with her medication, and Monica moved them both out from behind Dana's body, sliding them up the other end of the table. "Lie back."

She was glad when her friend didn't argue. Monica supported her lower back, and Charlie held her from the other side, and together they slowly lowered her onto the wooden table, trying to support her weight to take the pressure off the muscles in her stomach and not risk worsening any injury that might exist.

Then, with Dana lying flat, Monica reached for the buttons of the pyjama top. She undid all of them and spread the sides, then turned her attention to the white singlet top hugging her form underneath. She hesitated. The top was clinging so tight to her body that Monica knew it would rub her injury the moment she shifted it. But there was nothing else to do. She put her hands either side of Dana's waist and slipped her hands slowly under the cotton material. She lifted it away from Dana's skin, and folded it up and underneath itself so her whole stomach area - including the long surgery scar from when she was shot - was exposed.

There was no bruise, but it had only been a minute since Mulder's fist had pounded into her. It appeared, however, that the blow had struck quite low on her abdomen. Between her belly button and the top of her pyjama bottoms was a large red mark, stretching across her white skin.

"Ouch," Charlie said, staring at it.

"Is the skin broken?" came Dana's voice. She could not lift her head enough to see it herself, and had also closed her eyes again - a sure sign to Monica that she was still in severe pain. Monica knew from experience that Scully's pain tolerance level was extremely high, and attributed part of this to her being a doctor. But now, with her closed eyes and her arms lying stiffly on the table either side of her body, hands spread tensely, it was a worrying sight.

"No," Charlie replied. "But you're going to have one hell of a bruise."

Monica stared at the scarlet mark. "I think he was lying when he said he'd lost his strength."

"Yeah," Charlie said. "If that's weak I wouldn't like to cross him on a normal day."

But Dana ignored their comments, and her right hand crept onto her stomach, hesitantly at first, then pressing down in various areas as she examined herself, checking her internal organs. Monica and Charlie both watched silently. Monica felt tense as she observed, worried that any second there would come a strong gasp of pain that would tell something was horribly wrong. Of course, Monica thought, she _was _in pain. She could tell that from her friend's facial expression. But she still felt slight relief as the hand stopped searching and moved back to the table.

"Anything?" Charlie asked.

"Just bruised," she concluded.

Just then shouts rang out from the other side of the door.

"Scully?" Mulder yelled. "Scully! SCULLY!"

Monica instantly looked toward Scully. Her eyes were wide, and she turned her head sharply in the direction of the closed doors. From the desperation of his voice, Monica knew Mulder had just worked out what he'd done.

"Calm down!" came John's strong voice. Monica imagined John holding a panicking Mulder by the shoulders.

"WHERE IS SHE?" he shouted.

On the table, Scully began to push herself up. Monica automatically reached out an arm to help her, but her attention was on the shouting in the living room. Charlie took his sister's hand to steady her as she forced herself up, but he, too, was looking at the doors and was tense with anticipation.

"CALM DOWN!" Christi yelled. "_Yes _you hit her, she's in the kitchen, she's in a _lot _of pain, and the last thing she needs is you charging in like a maniac demanding she ease your guilt!"

There was a pause. For a second, Monica braced herself for something horrible, but then came Christi's voice again, and it was gentle.

"Just give her a minute, okay?"

The voices then faded so Monica could no longer make out what they were saying, but Monica felt herself relax.

She returned her attention to Dana, who was sitting on the edge of the table now. She had shrugged off her pyjama top so she was now only wearing the singlet top, still folded up underneath so it looked like a sports bra. She leaned forward, elbows on the knees of her baggy pyjama bottoms and head in her hands, pushing back her red hair.

Silently Charlie moved to the freezer, and took out a blue ice pack that Monica figured must have been bought by the Doggetts at the same time as they picked up all the fresh food. She felt a twinge of guilt as she knew it must have been bought for herself. But luckily, she thought, that had passed. Charlie wrapped it in a white tea towel and handed it to his sister.

"Ease the pain," he said. She emerged from her hands, sighed, and took it, putting it to her bare abdomen. She gasped at first and jerked it away, but then tried again and after a second, her body relaxed. Monica moved back to lean against the table again and slipped her arm around Scully's bare waist, hand on her tattoo.

They were silent for a minute, listening to the murmur of the voices from the next room. Monica felt her respect for Christi go up another notch, as it was a rare person who could hold back an emotionally charged Mulder, or get him to calm down and climb out of the rafters. She was so much like John, Monica thought. They were so much alike, in not just their looks, but also personality. Loyal and determined, kind yet fearless.

Scully leaned back forward, holding the ice pack to her abdomen with one hand, and using the other to hold up her head.

"Are you all right?" Monica asked.

She shook her head. Monica tightened her arm around her waist. Charlie put his hand on her shoulder.

Charlie's eyes narrowed. "You're sweating."

She raised her head suddenly from her hand, and Monica saw that he was right: her forehead held beads of sweat.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," she said. She swayed on the spot, and then leaned in toward Monica. Monica supported her as Charlie hurried to the kitchen cupboard where he had replaced the plastic bucket. He pulled it out, the cupboard thudded shut again on its spring, and he rushed back and put it to her mouth just in time. She vomited into it.

There was a knock at the door and Christi's voice rang out.

"Dana, can we come in?"

None of them answered. Monica was holding Scully up and over the bucket between them, and Charlie was holding the bucket in place and trying not to look revolted as she vomited.

After a moment of hearing no reply, the doors slid open a fraction and Christi appeared in the small gap. When she saw them, she pushed the doors open further and walked into the room. She approached the table slowly. Behind her, John had stopped in the doorway with Mulder. Mulder looked like hell, Monica saw, over the top of Scully's back. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat from his nightmare, and his damp t-shirt clung to his chest. As he saw Scully vomiting, he halted, and his hand reached out blindly for the door frame as though the sight had winded him. His eyes were not wild, but pained and filled with an irrepressible love for the woman Monica was holding. His chest rose and fell irregularly as he watched.

Dana finished vomiting, and she raised her head from the bucket, panting and out of breath. Charlie removed the bucket and set it on the bench behind him.

And then Mulder moved. As Monica supported her, he moved to the oven and pulled another tea towel from its rail. He wet the corner of it under the tap and then walked back toward them. Her head was still lowered, but he did not hesitate, and lowered his frame to her height. Then with the most gentle and loving touch, he reached up the wet towel and used it to wipe her mouth.

Monica suddenly felt like an intruder. Dana raised her head in surprise, but he didn't meet her eyes, and instead continued to clean her mouth. He folded over the dirty portion of towel, found a fresh spot of wetness, and then used that to sponge her forehead. When he had finished, he dropped the towel on the table and only then did their eyes connect. His expression was filled with love, but also with a little fear and a lot of insecurity. Dana's expression went from surprise to relief, and then to a look of tenderness that mirrored Mulder's.

"Scully, I -"

"It's okay," she said softly.

"No, I should've -"

"It was my fault," she said, cutting him off again. "I should've known better than to lean over you."

He closed his mouth.

"And it could've been any one of us," she finished.

He was silent for a moment. Monica could see his mind turning it over, still feeling guilty, but wanting to accept her words of comfort. To give himself a moment, he picked up the ice pack that had dropped into her lap when she had vomited. Then his eyes caught the huge red mark on her abdomen, and they froze. His look of insecurity seemed to double.

"Mulder, don't," Dana said. She reached out for him and took his elbow, her hand trailing its way down to his hand, where she clasped her fingers around his.

His breath seemed to catch in his throat. He stared at the mark.

"Please, Mulder," she said.

Still he stared.

"Mulder, look at me," she breathed.

Very reluctantly, he did. He pulled his eyes away from the developing bruise, and hoisted them to hers. They held their gazes for the longest time, neither saying anything, locked in a silent conversation Monica couldn't quite read. Once or twice, Mulder opened his mouth as though beginning to say something, but then closed it again mutely. Dana held his hand still, fingers squeezing and moving over his, and gradually, the look of insecurity in his eyes eased, and after a minute his fingers closed around hers, too. She seemed to release a held breath. He stood up straight, and moved in further, letting go of her hand and putting it instead into her hair. He smoothed her hair down, and then leaned in and gave her a long kiss on her temple. Monica withdrew her support as she fell to lean against his chest. He held her there, hugging her, his hand that held the ice pack moving it back toward her abdomen. She flinched as it made contact, but did not push it away and let him hold it there. Then, slowly, the hug loosened, and he lowered his frame awkwardly so his head was level with hers, and he brought his lips to hers.

Monica's first thought as she watched the two of them lock lips was that she couldn't believe he was kissing her after she had just vomited. But if she did taste of digested stomach contents, Mulder didn't appear to care. His lips moved over hers, she moved in further toward him, hands grasping the t-shirt at his waist, and then she deepened it and the two of them became lost in a tender French kiss.

Monica smiled to herself and stood up, moving away and out of their personal space, and around the table to join John and Christi. Christi was grinning, John looked amused. Charlie, coming to join them, looked as though he had never seen his sister make out with anyone before, and looked a little awkward, but also hugely relieved.

Monica took a step in the direction of the door, about to lead the group into the next room so Mulder and Dana could be alone, when the two of them broke apart.

Both of them looked around to where they were all standing, and both smiled.

"Stay," Scully said, looking at Monica, who was halfway out the door.

Her look was sincere, and Monica did.

Christi moved up the end of the table where Monica had pushed aside her medication, and picked up the blue box of antidepressants.

"You still haven't taken these," she said, and threw them across the room to Monica, who caught them in one hand.

Monica moved to the cupboard and pulled out a glass, filling it with water from the tap. Christi, too, took a glass and moved to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of orange juice. John leaned against the bench behind them, folding his arms contentedly across his chest. Charlie, however, moved to the opposite side of the table to his sister, and stared down at her lower back.

"So when did you get the tatt?" he asked.

"Hmm?" Dana said, looking around.

"The snake thing," he said, pointing to the tattoo.

"When I had my cancer," she replied, her face falling a little at the memory.

"I take it it means something?"

"It's an ouroboros," Monica supplied, before she could stop herself. "It's an ancient symbol woven through many religions and mythologies. It basically means infinity; cycles that never end."

"Sounds depressing," he said, eyeing it with puzzlement.

"Yeah," Dana said. "Well it was a bad time."

There was a strained silence. Dana looked down again, and Monica wished Charlie hadn't commented. Mulder was squeezing her shoulder, and dipped his head again to give her a peck on the forehead.

"So what did Mom say?" Charlie asked, smiling. "She know you have it?"

"She knows," Dana said, looking back toward him and matching his knowing smile. "She spotted it when I was in hospital. She went to help me tie up the back of my hospital gown and nearly had a seizure."

"I'll bet she did," Charlie replied, laughing.

There was a pause.

"So what's the one below it?" Charlie asked.

Monica had just swallowed the last tablet and she stopped mid-turn on her way to rinse her glass. She knew he was referring to the long scar at the base of Dana's back - the scar that had emerged from a case John had told her about with a cult and a gigantic slug that had crawled up her spine. Monica tensed, sensing the danger of this topic through pure intuition, and she exchanged a look with John across the room.

"It was a mistake," Dana finally replied.

"I can see that," Charlie said lightly. "Think I'd ask for a refund, if I were you."

Dana nodded, but said nothing. She avoided Mulder's eye. His hand had stopped rubbing her shoulder and was still, his eyes watching Charlie.

"And the one above that, near your neck?" Charlie went on, narrowing his eyes at the second, though shorter, scar that sat just below the ends of her red hair. The singlet top she was wearing made it quite visible.

Dana sighed.

"The same mistake," John answered for her, stepping forward.

Charlie looked confused.

"I think you'd rather not know," Monica said, wanting to change the subject.

Charlie sensed the tension in the room, and he stopped, looking from Monica's face to John's, then to his sister's, and Mulder's. Christi watched silently from the corner, drinking the orange juice.

"I'm sorry," Charlie said awkwardly, meeting his sister's eyes. "I didn't -"

"It's okay," Dana said, taking a breath and dismissing his apology. She gave him a brave smile.

"I just didn't know ... I mean I knew you were shot, but ..."

He trailed off. Monica could complete the sentence. He knew she had a scar from the surgery she had needed after being shot, but did not know her body was littered with other scars, and the discovery was unpleasant for him.

"It's all right," Dana repeated. She reached across the table, holding out her hand to him, and he took it, looking extremely guilty that he had started the conversation at all. Monica could sympathise. It had not been his fault. He was not to know that such painful experiences had caused those scars, that it was anything but an innocent conversation topic. He looked like he was kicking himself inside.

Monica thought that the conversation would be let go, that they would drift into lighter territory, but she had not counted on Mulder's reaction. His pained look of a few minutes ago had returned in full force. He had let go of Dana's shoulder, and was no longer touching her. He stared at Charlie, as though he had said something phenomenal, struck him with a lightning bolt that had penetrated straight through to his heart and fried it black.

"You okay?" Monica asked, moving toward him and reaching out for his arm.

Everyone immediately looked toward him, including Dana, who reached back for his hand, eyes narrowed.

"Mulder?" she questioned.

Mulder pushed Monica's hand off his elbow.

"We need a moment alone."

XXX

"Strip, Scully."

The words were out of his mouth before the sliding doors had even completely closed behind their friends, and Scully stared blankly up at Mulder. She couldn't help glancing, too, at the doors, knowing that everyone else no doubt heard the comment.

"Mulder, what's the matter?"

He gestured impatiently at her singlet top.

"Just take it off."

He had the same wild look in his eyes that always made her nervous. It was not a look of sexual desire, but the same look of impulsive idiocy she had seen on his face countless times before while working X-Files. It was the look of a rational mind left behind, and of a body being ruled by raw emotion.

"Mulder, I'm _fine_," she said, trying to keep her voice straight. One of them, after all, had to be rational.

But this only annoyed him further. His eyes were hard.

"Just strip it all off," he said roughly.

Several more arguments were already in her mind. Among them was the fact that they were in John's kitchen, that Monica, John, Christi, and her own brother, were all on the other side of the doors, probably listening, and that the pain in her stomach gave her no wish to complete any movement, and certainly not something as strenuous as pulling a piece of clothing over her head, stretching her sore abdomen in the process.

"Mulder, what's got into -"

He pulled her off the table in one swift movement, locking his arms around her upper torso and standing her up on the kitchen floor. She gasped at the roughness of it, and was so taken by surprise that he had already yanked down her pyjama bottoms before her mind had even had a chance to retaliate. The blue satin fabric pooled around her ankles, and he quickly knelt down, lifted each of her feet in turn, and pulled them off. He rolled them into a ball around his hand and then threw them across the kitchen. Scully's eyes tracked them to the far bench behind her, where they landed on a loaf of bread, and then slipped off and to the floor.

Her blue cotton underwear was next. She was used to him removing them slowly, kissing and touching her as he did, making a show of it. But now he was rough, and he tugged them down with no sympathy, and without even pausing to look at her genital area. Again, he lifted her feet in turn, and then threw the underwear aside onto the floor.

Her bottom half bare, she stood up, turning his attention to her white singlet top. Without a word, he took her arms and raised them above her head. He grasped the material on each side of her rib cage, and then pulled it up, over her breasts and head with ease. Then one large hand swooped around her back, unclasped her white bra, and then, that, too, was gone, falling to her own feet.

He stood back, only now taking a look at her naked body.

"Mulder?"

The room was freezing, and she shivered. She felt the goosebumps appearing on her arms, and folded them together over her breasts, feeling too bare.

But Mulder was not finished, and he took her arms and unfolded them again, pinning them down to her sides.

Then he examined her. It was thorough. He started at her head. He pulled the strands of her hair back behind her ears, his fingers traced her hairline, her nose, her cheeks, her chin. Then he moved to her neck, eyes searching it all the way around to the back. He lingered there, over the small scar beneath which was the chip. One of his fingers pressed on it, and then he tensed. He proceeded down her front, hands cupping her shoulders, her breasts, sliding down her arms and turning them over so he could examine them from all sides. Then he moved to her stomach, though he did not touch her there, owing to the recent injury. Instead, he searched with his eyes. They first found the long scar from when she had been shot in New York. He paused there for a long time. Was he remembering something, she wondered? It was a mystery, but he did not let on. Then his eyes moved down slightly again, to the large red mark on her abdomen that he had delivered her. But he seemed to be staring beyond that, too, into her insides. Her reproductive system, she realised. Her barren condition, and probably her abduction, Emily, William, and the fact that she would never have another child or be a normal mother. He went then to her groin, spreading her thighs with his fingers and looking at her there, too. William's delivery, she wondered? The desperate escape to Georgia, Monica's fear, the start of their friendship ... and then the loss of William, too. Her heart seemed to tense at just the thought and she promptly cut it off. She could not handle thinking about that now.

"Turn around."

She obeyed him, without even being sure why, and he completed the same procedure down her back. He found the small scar at the top of spine where John had dug out the slug with his pocket knife, and then his fingers traced lightly down her spine to its accompanying scar at the base, where the cult members had let the thing loose in her. He lingered too, over her tattoo, and she knew he had connected that with the time of her cancer, her near death. His hands slid over her buttocks, squeezing, and then travelled down to the backs of her thighs, all the way to her ankles.

Then he was still. Kneeling where he was, he hung his head, staring at the floor.

"Mulder, what's this all about?" she asked. She knew what it was about, but she wanted him to say it, to bring him back into an area of logic and rationalism and out of the field of blind emotions that she could not reason with.

Slowly, her stomach protesting every inch of the way, she knelt down beside him.

"_Mulder_," she said firmly.

He looked away, and when she put a hand on his shoulder, he shrugged it off, exactly as he had Monica earlier on.

"Mulder, this is all history," she said. "I'm _fine_."

But he sprung to his feet and began heading quickly to the door, a new sense of purpose in his urgency.

"Where are you going?" she demanded.

He did not even look over his shoulder as he threw open the doors.

His answer was loud and only one word long.

"Work."

* * *

_This section is short for a reason. I have hit a snag and need some reader feedback before I can write on. The problem is, I have a fork in the road where I can take two possible routes. The first route is what I'd originally planned to do, and to me at least, feels fairly mediocre. The second route is a wild idea I came up with at work the other day, and involves hospitalising Scully. I much prefer the second route, as I would be more interested in it and more motivated by it, however ... I will be unable to be 100 percent loyal to the medical details and will need to a take small licence and I am not sure whether readers will be okay with this, should they realise at all. It will also involve delaying the DRR a little, or merely putting it back to where I originally had it, as I'd moved it forward. Is anyone going to have a fit if I do not stay strictly loyal to medical details? I honestly don't think anyone would notice except for me, I've researched that much crap on it all. I also don't want to turn off readers if I hospitalise Scully. Thoughts? I hadn't written anything for weeks before today because I've been so stuck on this so in the end decided to give these two scenes and ask for some opinions. I hope someone can help._

_I also hope that little last scene with Mulder and Scully amused someone. I must say, I had fun writing it. Took a whole two seconds! Was probably worth it even if I do have to up my rating to M now (though that means the story won't automatically appear so readers will have to go searching and I'll lose them, so I'd better keep it tame, I suppose. Pity, really.)_


	10. Chapter 10

_HUGE thanks again to PlantGeek and Daisyz for sending feedback. Couldn't do it without you! I'm taking the second route. Hope I don't disappoint. _

* * *

Less than a minute after his hasty exit from the kitchen, Scully heard the front door slam. There were other noises: she had heard him unzipping his bag and throwing on clothes, and the combined questions and protests from the other four people in the room. But they had not been able to stop him, as she knew they would not be able to when Mulder was in one of his determined, tunnel-visioned moods. She heard the bang of the front door being thrown open again, and someone's feet pounding down John's front path, chasing Mulder to the car. But a second later there was silence. 

Scully stayed where she was: naked, kneeling on the floor of John's kitchen with her head in her hands, too weary and too sore to even think of standing up. She could not hear her friends talking - they were clearly shocked themselves - but she heard the soft sounds of them walking back to the living room with stunned slowness, turning their attention to her now that Mulder was gone.

"Dana?" Charlie's voice called.

She looked up in time to see him appear between the open doors.

"Woah," he said, spinning around as he spotted her naked state. "Uh ... geez ..."

He disappeared from the doorway in a hurry.

"What is it?" she heard Monica ask, and a second later Monica appeared where Charlie had been. Her eyes were scared at first, but then she spotted her on the floor and her expression fell into sadness, her mouth closing, brown eyes softening. She looked to the side, making eye contact with someone out of Scully's sight, and shook her head slightly to them, raising her hand a little to indicate for them to not come in further.

Monica stepped into the room. Her eyes found Scully's clothes scattered about on the table, benches and floor, but she ignored them, crossing to Scully and kneeling down beside her. Scully did not feel self-conscious. As a doctor who had seen countless people naked, dead and alive, she had lost the childish sense of embarrassment years ago. Then too, was the fact that Monica had delivered her son, and after being in that position, there was nothing to her that Monica had not already seen.

"He's gone?" Scully asked.

Monica's eyes were apologetic. "Yeah."

Scully looked away. She knew she should go after him, should chase him there, argue him back around to the field of commonsense, but she could not move. She was physically and psychologically exhausted, in pain, and not even sure of what she would say even if she did give chase. How did a person go about persuading Mulder that over nine years of loss, heartache, surgery and hospital stays, had not mattered? There was no logical approach, because even if it did not matter to her, if she had thought it worthwhile for the benefit of his friendship, his love, and the challenge to her hungry mind that no other division in the FBI could provide, there was still the fact of what had _really _bothered Mulder: Charlie's reaction. It was a reaction she knew represented the other world, the other side of life they had rejected so long ago. Shock, horror, at the sheer number of scars on her skin, on the skin of a person he had known since childhood, back when she had been innocent, happy, a whole other person Mulder had never seen ... it was a reaction that served as proof to him of how much he, and the X-Files, had taken away from her.

"I don't know if I have the strength for this," she confessed. It was all too much, way too much, on top of what she had already. On top of the trauma, of no sleep for nearly twenty-four hours, of enduring a day of Follmer's funeral, the media, and the draining fear for Monica. And now to have Mulder spin out of control, with no way to bring him back without a fierce argument ...

Scully felt hot tears of exhaustion spring to her eyes.

"It's okay," Monica said, shifting forward on her knees and putting a robed arm around her bare shoulders. Scully lowered her head near Monica's shoulder. "You stay here, ice your bruise. John and I can go after him. We'll bring him back."

A small part of her - the exhausted part that wanted to throw everything in - found the offer tempting. But the rest of her knew she could never accept, not only because she could not stand being apart from John and Monica as well as Mulder, but also because it was her fight, her business, something she had to sort out with Mulder on her own.

"No," she said, sighing and emerging from Monica's comforting shoulder. "It's my battle."

Monica was unsurprised by her decision, and did not argue.

Feeling a little better, Scully took a deep breath and then glanced around the room at her scattered items of clothing. But they were her pyjamas, and she could not turn up to the FBI in those.

"I'll get your bag," Monica said, reading her mind.

But when Monica returned, it was with her own bag as well. She put Scully's down on the floor in front of her, and then dropped her own on the kitchen table. She went to close the sliding doors so they could both get dressed.

"I'm driving you," she said.

Scully nodded, feeling more grateful than she could ever express for Monica's staunch support. This was the Monica she had gotten used to: the Monica of endless selflessness and support, always willing to help her carry her burdens, always, _always _there with some more strength and courage when she herself was running low. It was the Monica who had got them out of the mountains. It was the Monica who now seemed to be well again and had left Follmer's funeral and her accompanying illness behind her.

As Monica closed the doors, they both heard John's voice call out.

"We'll come with you too," he said, voice fading as he walked away to the stairs.

At his words, at the sounds of Christi and Charlie also leaving to get dressed, Scully felt some of her strength return.

This would work out, somehow. But oh boy, sometime amongst this craziness, she was going to absolutely kick Mulder's ass.

XXX

The drawer of the filing cabinet was nearly pulled off its tracks when Mulder threw it open. It hit the end of its rollers with an echoing clang and bounced back a little, but Mulder had already dived inside, his hands grabbing at the red and white folders.

It was nearly two in the morning now. He had made his way through the corridors and the X-Files office in darkness, only turning on one of the lamps on the table next to the filing cabinet he was digging in. The building was quiet and the streetlights outside cast shadows around the office through the small strip of window that rose to the street outside. He knew someone would follow from John's place, though who he wasn't entirely sure. But for now, he had a little time before they caught up, and he did not yet have to worry about them.

He found the first file of interest: the one where everything had started, where the mess of his catastrophic mistakes had begun. It was the file dedicated to Scully's abduction. Duane Barry, the asshole. He remembered many things from that time, but the most dominant memories came from after Scully was found. He remembered sitting in the hospital with Mrs Scully and Melissa, praying for her life, praying she would wake up. He didn't even think about the emotional scars at that stage, it had been such a relief when she had woken, the same reaction that Anne Doggett had mentioned only hours ago to Doctor Cheung: _"I admit I'm still floating with relief that they're alive."_ But he could recall the look on Mrs Scully's face during the ordeal. And it had been that case that had cemented Scully's presence on the X-Files, because then, like him, she had needed answers. But if he had been a real man, he would have put his foot down for her own good. He would have recognised the narrow escape for what it was, and persuaded her to go back into the FBI mainstream, where her extraordinary mind and skills would have her a huge career in just a few short years.

Mulder threw the file on Scully's abduction onto the hard, grey floor with a thud. Some of the loose papers spilled out and fluttered around for a moment before settling.

So Scully had stayed, he thought. He had been selfish in enjoying her presence, taking advantage of her presence, and had not challenged her once. He had given no thought to her own long term goals, her sense of career and what she had wanted to achieve in life. He had continued in his own crazy pursuit for the truth, continued for more disasters.

He quickly found the files on these other disasters, too: Pfaster, Melissa, an Arkansas chick plant, a Maryland neighbourhood with psychosis-inducing TV sets, a man named Schnauz, a man named Leonard Betts ... and then her cancer. The memory was still painfully vivid. He had thought he had lost her for sure that time. Her family, too. There had seemed no way out, but it had ended in a miracle. Then, too, as her closest friend, he should have hinted she pause to reassess her priorities in life. She must have had ambitions as a child, things she had wanted to do before she died. Surely hunting alients had never been one of them. But no, relieved to have her back by his side, he had ploughed on. Then, before Christmas of that same year, on an innocent family-seeking vacation to Bill and Tara in San Diego, she had found Emily, had lost Emily. She was the type of loveable child Scully _should _have had. A child who looked like Emily, had a sweet nature like Emily, but none of her illnesses or tragic past. Just a sweet daughter Scully could have had, if her abduction had never happened, if she had never lost her ova. Emily was the type of life Scully could have had if he hadn't forced her to stick with the X-Files.

But no. It had continued on, and on, and on. They had travelled back to the chip in her neck. She had barely escaped death again after encountering it near a dam in Pennsylvania. And then again in Antarctica. And then _again _in New York.

The funny thing about her gunshot wound from the trip to New York, was that it was the only time in her pain-riddled history that he hadn't felt in some way responsible. It, too, had been about the only time he had been standing in the same camp as the entire Scully family. They had all demanded answers, and when Bill Scully had punched Agent Ritter in the head, Mulder had merely wished it had been his own fist. He had also felt a hint of liking for Bill when he had marched up to Kersh and engaged him a full-scale shouting match. Scully had been unconscious at the time, recovering from surgery, and she had never found out about those events. But Mulder remembered.

He threw the stack of files down on the first one on the floor. The pile toppled and more sheets of paper, more reports and photos, slipped out of their folders.

But there were still more to be found, and Mulder returned his attention to the filing cabinet, on the last drawer now. In this drawer he found the last of it. He found the second encounter with Pfaster, and then he had been abducted, she had found out she was pregnant, and the whole deal changed. More X-Files hurting Scully had followed, though he could not be there to stop her this time. There was the cult in Utah from which Doggett had saved her life. Mulder had never even thanked Doggett for that one. Like an ungrateful bastard it had never occurred to him to thank the man for saving his partner's life. And then Scully had found him dead. He would never know how bad that had hurt her. They had never openly talked about it. The only good thing Mulder could possibly pull from the whole experience was their meeting John and Monica. It had been an unsettling encounter to begin with in both cases, but then, he thought, it had been the same with Scully. Suspicious one day, thanking his lucky stars the next.

After their meeting John and Monica, Mulder had used their help to protect Scully as she was due to give birth. Monica had risen to the occasion, and Scully had yet again barely escaped with her life. But this time, so had Monica and John. And then Mulder had had to go into hiding, and Scully was left to look after William alone, with the great help of her mother. But the threat on William was too large, and she had had to give him up for his own safety. Mulder knew this was a decision which had also had a catastrophic impact on the rest of her family. Scully's mother had also been hugely attached to William, and it had broke her heart to lose him. Bill and Tara, too, did not understand the threat from the X-Files and had expressed the view that if she really couldn't cope, why couldn't they take him and raise him, so as to keep him in the family? Mulder had not been there for these events, but he had heard all about it afterwards, mostly from Skinner, John and Monica. Only much later had Scully herself begun to open up to him about it. But the wounds were still very present for all of them. Even this week, none of them had dared mention William's name. It was a fiercely taboo subject, one that stirred up too many raw emotions in too many people.

He threw more files down on top of the existing on the floor. It was a small mountain of hurt to Scully. A tower of pain, of endless hospital trips, endless calls to her family notifying them that something was wrong.

But that was not all, as a horrible new thought occurred to Mulder. He had not only let Scully get continually hurt, but also John and Monica. With a new furious surge of energy, Mulder ripped open another drawer he had previously ignored. This drawer contained the most recent X-Files. Had John and Monica been hurt, too? But yes, he soon discovered. John had been in a coma for several days when William was kidnapped. Monica had also been brain dead from her encounter with Preijers, although that had not been an X-File. She had, so far, escaped relatively unscathed. But this did not calm him, because he now liked Monica too much to risk seeing her lose everything as himself and Scully had. Monica deserved a full life, as did John.

He nevertheless put the X-File containing Doggett's coma on the rest of the pile.

Then he stood back.

Horrorstruck, Mulder stepped back until his legs hit the bench behind him. In an effort to look away from the pile of pain he had caused Scully, he looked around the X-Files office.

There was still only the one desk. He was reminded painfully of when Scully had asked for one of her own, and he had not understood then. It had felt puzzling that it had bothered her when it never had before. But now he understood. He had not respected her need for a life of her own, even if it only expressed itself through having her own desk; a small space that was hers, a drawer in which she could hide things, and a desktop on which she could place photos or knick-knacks. He had committed the same crime in regard to John and Monica. Monica had never shown any sign that it mattered to her. She was easygoing enough either way and usually had a smile for them no matter what the occasion. But then his eyes found a small vase of dead flowers on a table across the room, and his heart clenched, remembering when Monica had brought those flowers into the office just before they left for the disastrous trip to Canada. What was it she had said? We need some life down here? They had all thought it a bit crazy at the time, but now he stared at the curled and brown petals that littered the bench around the vase, and he knew she had been right. And, what was more, she should never have had to have bought the flowers for herself. The fact that she had was symbolic of how much of her private life the X-Files had eaten away. The first stage of destruction, how it had begun with Scully ...

Footsteps.

Mulder froze. He listened carefully. It was definitely more than one pair of feet. It was definitely more than two. His heart filled with anxious dread as he realised it must be all of them. He gripped the edge of the bench beside him to steady himself and tried to hoist a casual, indifferent look onto his face.

He was just in time.

Scully came through the door first, wearing the same black suit and blouse that she had worn earlier to Follmer's funeral. Behind her came Monica and John, both dressed casually but with their FBI identifications pinned to their jackets. Last through the door came Christi and Charlie, both with orange visitor's badges pinned to their fronts. Christi looked like hell. Mulder did a quick calculation in his head and realised she must have been up for well over 24 hours now.

Scully came slowly into the room, flicking on the lightswitch as she did. If Mulder hadn't known better, he would've thought her arrival was for just another day at the office. Her face was her strong self again, her arms crossed against her chest as she spotted his mountain of files on the floor. She looked at them for a second before she leaned against the edge of the desk and raised an eyebrow.

"Suppose you tell us what this is about," she said evenly.

He couldn't mistake her tone: she was pissed, and barely holding it in. But he also knew her extremely well, and knew just from her lack of curiosity about the mess that she already knew exactly what it was about. And she was furious.

Christi and Charlie hung right back in the doorway. Their curious eyes crept over the X-Files office, taking it in for the first time, this place they had both obviously heard so much about. John and Monica, however, followed Scully in. John immediately spotted the mess on the floor and went straight over, crouching down and reaching out for the top file, turning it over so he could read the cover. Monica, her eyes on Scully, stood against the wall.

"Mulder?" Scully persisted.

"Your flowers are dead," Mulder said suddenly, making eye contact with Monica and pointing to the vase of dead petals and leaves. Even as he said it he felt his chest tighten. The flowers were dead, as was just about everything else ...

Monica's eyes found the flowers, but they came back to him almost immediately. There was a short silence in which her eyes studied him, and he looked away, focusing on the bottom of the cupboards opposite him, staring at nothing.

"But we're not," she said eventually, firmly yet gently.

"But this isn't about death, is it Mulder?" Scully said knowingly.

Mulder couldn't meet her eyes and stubbornly kept them where they were on the dusty corners of the floor.

"No," he said softly.

"What is this?" John commented, stacking the files as he looked at each one. "Every time Dana's ever hurt herself?"

Again, Mulder didn't answer. John continued to turn the files over, flicking through them, and Mulder knew he had found his answer without having to hear a word in reply.

"Marked for the dumpster," Scully said.

There was a pause.

"You know," Monica said, looking him straight in the eye, "I think you need to understand that it doesn't feel very flattering to know that after all we've been through, all the times we witnessed each other's pain, saved each other's lives, that you can still feel the need to hide."

Mulder's eyes jerked up to Monica's. Those were near to the exact words he had said to her as she had been lying on the couch with a fever the previous night. They had been criticising her for having ducked upstairs and vomiting alone in the bathroom instead of waking them to ask for help. Now, she threw them back at him, criticising him for the same mistake of running away to the FBI. Mulder felt the pain of the words right in his chest and in the heat behind his eyes. He shifted uncomfortably. His vision became blurry and he tried to blink it away.

"Whatever happened to all that talk about us being open and honest with each other?" Monica asked, her tone gentle again. "Or did that only apply to me?"

There was a long, tense silence. Mulder was still reeling from the pain of Monica's skilled attack, and knowing that she was exactly right. But he could not face the prospect of saying what was wrong. The problem was too enormous, and something none of the other four had been there for. They had come into the story long after. They could not understand.

The heat behind his eyes spilled over and he raised a hand to hastily swipe away the tear that dared to slip out.

John pushed himself to his feet. He took a step toward Mulder, but Mulder held up a hand to try to ward him off. He could not stand their comfort, their kindness that he did not deserve. He had destroyed them all.

"Mulder?" Scully prompted. Her tone was soft again now. He chanced looking at her and saw that the ice in her eyes had melted against his tears.

"I think he was right," Mulder said, looking back to his same spot on the floor. The dust was all blurry now through his watery vision. He could not bear to look at Scully.

"Who was right?"

"Bill," he replied. He sighed, it was so painful he thought he was going to collapse under the weight of it all. "He was right all along."

There was a pause. No one except Scully understood what he meant. John and Monica were looking at him with confused expressions. Charlie edged a little further into the room and looked to his sister for an explanation. She gave none.

"One sorry son of a bitch," Mulder murmured.

"Is that what he said?" Charlie asked sharply, moving further into the room, past where his sister was leaning on the edge of the desk.

"When?" John joined in, narrowing his eyes.

Scully threw them a placating look, but neither of them heeded her.

"Five years ago now," she finally said, looking down at her folded arms.

"You don't think he _meant _it?" Charlie went on, stopping beside John and scrutinising Mulder's face.

"It was pretty clear from where I was standing," Mulder said.

"Oh come on," Charlie said dismissively. "Five years ago, that would be when Dana was dying of cancer, right?"

Mulder didn't answer, but Charlie took that as an affirmative.

"Well let me tell you something about Bill: he is extremely smart, quick-thinking, and a great strategist. When you're out on the open sea, in a war zone, he's your best friend. But get him back on land and in anything even close to an emotional situation, and he's about the stunted person you'll ever meet. I mean, he's _capable _of emotion, he has a good set of principles in him and he cares a lot about the family, but when something threatens one of those people in his circle and he has no battleship at his command to blast them with, he can't control himself. He's always been like that to some extent, being the eldest child he's always been protective of us, but it's gotten worse since Dad died. He sees himself as the protector of the family now, the great guard dog. And you know as well as I do how it felt to have that happen to Dana. You know that feeling of helplessness, that there's nothing you can do for her, and Bill just had no idea what to do with that. His strategic mind was spinning around looking for a target to lash out at, someone to _blame_, someone to release all his anger toward, and you were just there at the wrong time."

"What you're talking about is control," Mulder said. "The underlying feeling is the same, whether its suppressed or not."

"Why's it matter what he thinks?" John put in. "Why would you need his approval?"

There was a pause. Mulder could not bring himself to answer.

"You're hating yourself," Monica said. Her eyes went to the pile of folders at John's feet. "For this? For what's happened?"

"How can you blame yourself for that?" Charlie asked. He looked more confused than ever.

Mulder felt his own frustration rise.

"Because it was preventable," he said, looking up at Charlie again.

There was another pause. Charlie stared at him as though he was a complete ignorant idiot. He shifted his feet, looked to the side and took a deep breath. As he did, Monica moved to lean on the desk next to Scully, who was looking down at her hands, looking restless, but too down to interfere. Christi silently moved toward the chair behind the desk and sat down.

"Then let me tell you a few things about Dana too," Charlie said eventually. His voice was gentler now. "I would have thought that with a brain like yours, and after nine years of working with her, you would have her figured out by now. But if you haven't yet strung it all together then maybe it's time I gave you a hint."

Mulder could not help feeling a twinge of curiosity now.

Scully, however, sighed. "Charlie -"

"Just trust me," he said.

He looked back to Mulder before she could reply. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Scully's eyes were locked onto her brother. Monica, smiling a little, put an arm around her shoulders.

"First of all," Charlie said, "no one _makes _my sister do anything. That's a fact. So if she chose to stick with these X-Files then you can bet that it was her decision, not yours. You could have launched every objection imaginable and it wouldn't have swayed her an inch."

Mulder, though reluctantly, couldn't help agreeing, because that was what had made up their partnership for nearly seven years. He had launched every objection at her in terms of his theories, and he had never swayed her an inch. She was headstrong. But that was one reason why it had been such a thrill, why no other had woman had ever come close to giving him the feeling Scully did.

"I could tell you endless stories to prove my point, but I don't think I need to, do I?"

Charlie's eyes were exactly like Scully's, and with them boring into him now, Mulder felt uncomfortable under their intensity and looked away.

"Second of all," he went on, "I happen to know _exactly _why she stayed, even through all the bad things that have happened. And if she hasn't told you - and I'm going to play a hunch that she hasn't - then I think it's about time someone did. Even if it does have to be me."

Mulder had no idea where Charlie was going, and curious to know, he stayed quiet.

Charlie smiled. "Let me ask you a question: Do you know who she shared her first kiss with?"

Scully's head shot up. Her arms unfolded. "Charlie -"

"Dave Petersen," Charlie said, his smile falling to reveal exactly what he thought of him. "He cornered her out the back of our church one Sunday after services. She was thirteen. He fed her a load of crap he didn't mean, shoved his tongue down her throat, and then barely looked at her again. Apparently he only did it on a dare."

Mulder's heart clenched painfully. He chanced a glance at Scully and saw her eyes were lowered. Monica's hand was rubbing her shoulder. Past them, Mulder could see Christi looking at Scully with sympathy.

"Know who her first relationship was with?" Charlie went on.

"No," Mulder said, in wonder.

"A guy named Marcus. I admit he was half okay. Mom was absolutely gaga over the whole thing. But he was already experienced, Dana wasn't, and he broke up with her after four months. It turned out all he was interested in was her body. He got all frustrated with the Catholic values, and his patience ran out in the end. After four months of failed attempts to get her pants down, he left."

Mulder felt relief that Scully had stood up to the jerk, but that was before Charlie's next words.

"Know when he finally succeeded?"

Mulder's heart skipped a beat.

"Charlie -"

Scully was objecting again. She had a hand held up.

"I'm coming to a point," he assured her.

Scully cringed, but did not voice further objections.

"College," he said, turning back to Mulder. "She was on a summer break from wrapping her mind around all that Einstein, and ran into him again. And I don't know whether it was his new tan or what, but all I know is one moment they were talking on the street and the next she was creeping back in at 3 am and crying to Melissa. I didn't need the thin wall between our bedrooms to figure out what had happened."

Mulder felt stunned. So that's how Scully had lost her virginity, he thought, and it had obviously been a disaster ...

"Yeah, I knew," Charlie said softly.

Mulder broke out of his thoughts to see Scully was staring at Charlie in shock. She had clearly had no idea that anyone other than Melissa had known about that night. She lowered her head again and put her hands over her eyes, rubbing tiredly. Monica's hand continued to rub her shoulder.

There was silence.

"He wasn't that bad," she said. She lowered her hands. "And I initiated it. I don't even know why it ..."

She broke off, deep in thought.

"Because you weren't in love," Monica said, answering the question Scully hadn't been able to voice. "Neither of you."

Scully sighed. "I don't know."

There was an awkward pause. Neither John nor Christi said a word.

"There were more after that," Charlie said quietly. "Daniel Waterston, Jack Willis, Chris Waller ... all for a few months here and there. But none of them lasted because they don't know what you know: that the way to Dana's heart is through her head."

At last, Mulder understood.

"You challenged her for _nine _years," Charlie said. "You kept her on her toes, kept her mind young, kept her thinking. She has a hungry mind with an extremely high IQ and you're a match for that. And I think that even if you were the ugliest guy on Earth, or if you'd come out of that accident as a quadriplegic, she wouldn't love you any less. Because you complement each other so perfectly that you're like soul mates. The look on her face when she's around you, or talking about you, is something we'd never seen in her before she came to work here. And maybe all this tragedy means you'll have new goals now, channel your energies in different directions, but I'm really hoping that neither of you are going to throw each other away."

Mulder knew he was openly crying now, but he could not stop himself.

Charlie nodded. "We'll wait outside."

XXX

When they had all left and Christi had closed the door behind them, Mulder sighed, trying to release some of the strain. He felt tense in the wake of a hundred realisations, and amongst it all wondered why he had never bothered to discover all those facts for himself, why he had heard it from Scully's brother. But he could think about that later. Right now, Scully was still leaning against the desk, eyes on the door where Charlie had departed. Like himself, she was crying, thin lines of tears rolling down from her eyes.

After a minute of them both being lost in their own senses of shock, Scully's eyes turned back toward him, hesitantly looking up to where he stood across the office. Mulder still felt tense, as if all the bolts and screws holding his body together had been tightened too much, and he couldn't even land his thoughts on the stack of files at his feet. He cast his mind around for something distracting to say in order to give themselves time to recover.

"You're alike," he said to her, nodding at the door where Charlie had just left.

"Only in looks," she replied. Her shoulders seemed to relax as she spoke, relieved at his words and tone. "He's always been much more of a free spirit, like Melissa. He's never been driven by ambition or achievement."

Mulder smiled. She was blind. "No, you're alike, Scully. In the way you think, the way your minds work."

He said it without the tone of argument, and crossed the office as he spoke. When he reached her he gently took her elbow and gave a small tug. He sat himself down in the swivel chair behind his desk, and reached up for her hand, wanting her to sit down in his lap.

She hesitated for a second, eyes looking down at him, but then she gave in, and allowed him to pull her onto his lap. She sat sideways, and he found her to be as light as a feather. There was even less to her now than there had been before. She responded by linking her fingers through his. He put an arm around her waist to hold her there.

"Well he _is _my brother. You have to expect there's going to be a resemblance somewhere."

He smiled at that. Her eyes twinkled a little and some of the tension between them eased. Mulder rubbed her back.

"Was it all true?" he asked.

She hesitated. For a moment she looked uncomfortable and avoided his eyes, but then she took a deep breath and her eyes returned to look bravely straight into his.

"Yes," she said. "I don't know how he found out about it, but yes, it's true."

Mulder squeezed her hand. "You cried the first time."

She nodded slightly. "Afterwards. I climbed into bed with Melissa and cried on her shoulder. We talked until dawn."

She did not look bothered by the memory, and Mulder felt comfortable going on. Now that it was out, he wanted to know everything.

"Was he rough?" he asked gently. "Was it painful?"

"Well I think all females find it painful the first time. But no, he wasn't rough. I just felt down for some reason. I mean maybe Charlie was right. It was just a physical act with no fulfillment for the mind or soul and I walked out still feeling empty. I only did it in the first place to get it over with, and I was relieved it was all over, but ... anyway, it's ancient history now."

She shrugged one shoulder, indicating to him that she had long ago left the memory behind.

But still Mulder felt saddened. "You deserved better."

She smiled at him. "I _have _better."

Mulder smiled back under her flattery, but still wasn't willing to let the point go.

"Better than me," he said. Instantly, his mind filled with all the new realisations he hated himself for, a million things that had been missing from their relationship. "You deserve to be happy, Scully. You deserve someone who'll spoil you, take you on vacations, cook you romantic dinners, give you a big house with a pet dog, and -"

"A normal life," she finished, nodding along. She paused and narrowed her eyes at him. "Mulder, did you listen to a single word Charlie said?"

"Yes, I did, I just ..."

"Mulder, even ignoring the fact that you'd be bored stiff within a single hour, I think you're missing half the picture here. If happiness were something that could be found in a single location or situation then the entire world would be uniform. As it is I think happiness can only exist when it's in balance with sadness, because it takes one to truly know the other. And without" - she pointed to the files stacked on the floor - "all these unfortunate events we'd never have the glorious memories as well. We'd never have found each other, never known John and Monica, never had William ... and I think the same goes for the rest of the world. Sadness is a part of life, Mulder, not something restricted to the X-Files, and even if I'd never been assigned here I have no doubt that other tragedies would have been waiting along the other possible paths. I mean, look at John. He was married with a steady job and a child and yet tragedy still struck. But now, because of it, his family are much closer, and he was able to meet Monica. The two elements come together."

"Yin and yang," Mulder said.

"Yeah."

"But that's not to say you can't increase the proportions of either one," Mulder argued. "I mean if you know what triggers happiness in a particular person you can steer the circumstances so you can lead them to a life which has more joy than sadness. There is still an element of the unpredictable, but you can reduce the risk."

"You're calling the X-Files a risk."

He sighed, and took a moment to think before answering her.

"I want better, Scully," he said softly. "And not just for you, but for _us_, and for John and Monica, too."

She looked at him with pitying eyes. "Mulder, the X-Files are your life. Are you now saying you want to give them up?"

He considered the thought. Could he shut down the X-Files?

She squeezed his hand. "Mulder you know trauma as well as I do. We've been out two days and it is way too early to be making decisions of _any _kind. You should wait at least -"

"Six weeks, I know." He paused. "But you know ... the entire time we were stuck up there, I never even gave them a thought. When we went through the things we'd left behind, your family members and all the possessions we normally take for granted, I never even thought to list the X-Files among them. I think that signifies something."

Her eyes were filled with disbelief, and a touch of hurt. "That it never meant anything? That none of the past nine years had any real meaning?"

"No," he said quickly. He took their joined hands and rubbed them on her thigh. "That the real meaning is here."

She looked surprised. Her mouth opened a little but no words came out. And in that second Mulder realised that in all the time they had loved each other, he had _never _actually said it to her. Declarations of love had been one of those things normal couples did but that he and Scully had always been too insecure or busy to bother with. But he could fix that now, just as he intended to fix the rest of his shortcomings. All those things normal couples had and did ... she would have all of those now.

"I love you, Scully," he said, looking her in the eyes. "More than anything. And not because of your body, like those jerks in your past, but because of your mind- " He cupped the side of her face with the hand that had been on her back. "- because of your heart -" He lowered the hand to the front of her black blouse, trailing it over the plastic buttons. "- because of what we have together."

She beamed and held his hand even tighter. "Mulder you don't have to compete with any of the 'jerks' from my past. You've won hands-down."

And with that, she began to lean in toward him. She let go of his hand. Mulder put his hands either side of her rib cage as she turned, feeling her bones under his fingers. Her FBI identification dangled forward as she leaned over.

"Hands down where?" he quipped, as her mouth descended on his.

She smiled as she kissed him. It was a long kiss. Mulder pulled her as close as he possibly could, hoisting her up further on his lap as her tongue found his and their mouths opened to desperately show how much they loved each other. Mulder ascended to heaven right there and then. He slipped his hands under her coat and around to her back, carefully avoiding touching her stomach on the way, and held her there. Scully's own hands were both on his waist, balancing herself as she kissed him. Her loose hair fell forward from behind her ears and tickled his face. Utterly elated, he could not stop himself from smiling into the kiss.

She pulled away gently. She, too, was grinning and she leaned her forehead against his. For a moment they stayed there, only hearing each other's breathing, Mulder feeling her chest expand and contract under his hands on the side of her ribs.

"I love you too, Mulder," she said softly.

She pulled away. Her smile faded and she ran a hand down his shirt, sighing.

"I only wish I was feeling better so I could prove it."

Mulder's heart softened at the disappointed look on her face and he understood exactly what she meant.

"It's okay," he assured her, pulling her back in for a hug. "It doesn't matter if we never do it again." Her head settled against his shoulder. Mulder rubbed her back. "It's this that's important. This closeness."

She moved to kiss his neck. "I love you Mulder."

And then she hugged him tight, arms slipping around his back, pulling themselves even closer together.

Mulder kissed her cheek. "I love _you_."

XXX

_**Chapter Thirty-Five - Girl Talk**_

Monica opened the door to the ladies'. It was past two in the morning now, and all the lights in the basement had been off. She reached blindly for the light switch on the wall, and her hand eventually found it. A single fluroescent tube flickered a few times before bathing the blue sinks and cubicles in bright light.

"Thanks," Christi said. She dropped the handbag she had been carrying on the bench and then headed for the first cubicle.

Christi, tired of waiting in the corridor for Mulder and Dana, had asked Monica where the bathroom was and Monica had happily led her through the dungeon concrete corridors to their destination. It was a bathroom that was seldom used. Of course, the majority of agents were male, but still this particular bathroom was so far out of the way that Monica had never known anyone other than herself and Dana to use it. It had been one of the few perks of being in the basement, having it all to themselves.

As Christi shut herself in the cubicle and Monica heard a zip being undone, Monica turned to the sinks. She put her hands on the bench and stared at her reflection in the mirror. So thin, she thought. The jeans she wore had fitted perfectly before the accident, but now they were loose, and when Monica had dressed in the kitchen back at John's house she had wished she had packed a belt to hold them up better. The brown top she wore was also loose, though between it and the coat she wore over the top her boney figure wasn't too obvious. But there was something thin in her neck and face, and in her eyes ... had that been the haunted look her mother talked about? She felt an unconquerable heaviness as she studied herself in the mirror, and after a minute, wished she hadn't bothered to look.

But, she thought, there was no reason to feel heavy. Mulder and Dana loved each other, and they would work things out. They would all head home to John's, get some sleep, and then ...

But no, she could not yet think about tomorrow. She could not think about Holly. That was too much. For now, she would not think beyond getting everyone safely back to John's place.

She heard the toilet flush and a second later Christi emerged. She went to the sink beside Monica, turned on the tap, and then took a dollop of soap into her hand from the dispenser on the wall. She worked it into a foam on her hands.

"Are you okay?" she asked, looking sideways at Monica still staring into the mirror.

"Yeah," Monica said, and tried to inject confidence into her voice. "I'm sure they'll sort it out."

"Without a doubt," Christi said, finishing her hands and moving to the paper towel dispenser on the far wall. She tore a sheet and wiped her hands dry. "They're the most in love couple I've ever seen."

She dropped the scrunched up towel into the plastic bin and turned back to Monica.

"With one possible exception," she added, with a mischievous smile.

Monica's heart skipped a beat. That look on Christi's face could only mean one thing. She knew. She knew Monica loved John. And ... did the smile really mean that she wasn't bothered by that? Could Monica be that lucky?

Christi walked back toward her. She reached and briefly rubbed Monica's back.

"I actually wanted to talk to you about something," Christi said. "I know now's not the ideal time, but I don't think there will ever be an ideal time, and it's probably the only time I'm going to get you alone."

"What is it?" Monica asked, wishing her heart would calm down and stop thumping in her chest.

"John," Christi answered simply.

Monica waited.

"I had him crying in my arms earlier, when you were asleep." She paused. Her blue eyes were looking into Monica's, observing her carefully. "Would I be right in thinking that he helped you change your clothes when you got back from the funeral?"

"Yeah," Monica said, puzzled.

Christi nodded. "Well you might want to avoid that, at least for now."

Monica still wasn't sure how the two went together.

"Why was he crying?" she asked. As she spoke the words a small pain broke out inside her, picturing him crying to Christi. If Monica had known ...

"Because of how thin you are," Christi answered, looking at her with sympathy. "It hurt him to see it."

Monica looked away. So her repulsive figure had upset him. The knowledge hurt her.

She felt Christi's hand on her back again.

"I think he just took it as some kind of proof of what this experience has done to you. I told him he was being silly, that it was only temporary, but I think that now he just loves you so much that he can't bear to think about what all this has done to you."

In the whole sentence, Monica's mind only picked out one phrase. He loved her?

"Yes, he loves you," Christi said, smiling as she rubbed Monica's back, and talking as if Monica had said the words out loud. "He loves you at _least _as much as you love him."

Monica felt stunned by hearing the words. Could it be true? Her heart thudded even harder in her chest, and she felt strangely weak, somehow. She gripped the edge of the bench a little tighter.

"You don't have to feel awkward," Christi said, still smiling. "I can't tell you what a joy it is to see it. Watching you both these last few days, it's been incredible. All I'm saying is that until you get a few meals inside you, and start keeping them down, it might be a good idea if you get help from someone else. If, for any reason, you need help with your clothes again, call for me or Dana, okay?"

Monica nodded automatically. Her mind was still stuck on Christi's statement that John loved her.

"You look disappointed," Christi said. "What's wrong?"

"I guess I'm just wishing he'd told me all this himself," Monica said, remembering again their group vow to be honest and open with each other, and feeling a little betrayed.

"He will," Christi assured her. "When he's ready."

"You know how scared he is," Monica said. It was hard to the voice the fear that had engulfed her for over a year now, the fear that John would never make a move, no matter how much he loved her.

"I think it's different now. I have no doubt he'll tell you, and probably sooner than you expect."

Monica didn't dare believe it. Christi was smiling, one hundred percent confident, but after a year of waiting for John, never having any response, it felt like too much to hope for.

"Monica, relax," Christi said, giving her a squeeze. "I could fight him out of the fear corner in less than five minutes, and I intend to as soon as I get the chance. Just leave it all to me."

Christi's confidence was infectious, and Monica couldn't help smiling back at her, her doubts fast evaporating under Christi's kindness.

"You talk like you've done this before," Monica said.

"Not really," Christi said. "I just know him well."

She let go of Monica's back and turned around, leaning back against the sink. She sighed wearily and closed her eyes a moment.

"I have to say, though, I admire Dana's tolerance. If John started telling the world about my sex life I think I'd kick his ass."

Monica grinned.

"I think she would've," Monica said. "She was just so stunned that he knew it all. He caught her off guard."

"It's sad, though," Christi said.

Monica opened her mouth to reply but was distracted by the sound of footsteps in the corridor outside.

The door opened.

XXX

"Dana," Monica said, surprised as her friend came through the door.

"Yeah, Charlie told me you were in here."

She let the door fall shut and walked toward them. Monica noted the calm expression on her face and immediately knew that everything had been sorted out between her and Mulder. In fact, her blue eyes were so happy that Monica wondered exactly what had happened after they'd left.

"Are you okay?" Dana said suddenly, stopping in her tracks and narrowing her eyes at Monica's face. She hurried toward Monica and put a hand on her arm.

"I told her about John," Christi said.

"Oh," Dana breathed, and she nodded in full comprehension. Monica felt Dana squeeze her arm. "Yes, he's pacing outside, looking lost. I said I'd come get you."

Dana was smiling as she said it, and Monica couldn't help grinning in reponse. But with two pairs of blue eyes trained upon her she felt a little too in the spotlight, and immediately hauled back the smile.

"And you and Mulder?" Monica asked. "Is he okay?"

"He's fine," Dana said, smiling wider now. "It's all good now. In fact, we'll be ready to go in a minute, as soon as I've -"

She pointed to the toilets and headed for the second cubicle. Her friend looked so happy that Monica couldn't resist the sense of playfulness that had risen inside her.

As Dana was about to close the toilet door, Monica said, "You never told me about Jack Willis."

Dana stopped with the door half closed.

Monica grinned.

"There's not a whole lot to tell," Dana said, and with a look of both amusement and discomfort, closed the door. Monica heard the lock turn.

Of course there wasn't anything to tell, Monica thought, still smiling. Monica had known Jack Willis as one of her instructors at the Academy, and knew he must have also trained Dana when she joined, too. But far from having nothing to tell, Monica's first question was why on Earth Dana had been attracted to him. Jack Willis had been much older, and far from good looking. Though he was a reasonably nice man, he was no genius, and exactly what Dana had seen in him Monica couldn't work out.

"Anyway," Dana continued, as Monica heard a zip being undone, "I think I've had enough of having my love life broadcast for one night."

Monica tried to ignore the sound of her friend urinating and said, "I'll be happy to share mine if it makes you feel any better. I've had one or two disasters myself."

There was silence from the closed cubicle.

"You don't have to worry, Dana," Christi added. "It won't be going any further."

But still there was silence.

"Dana?" Monica said.

But the voice that returned through the door was tense and scared. "Monica, I'm -"

She broke off.

"You're what?" Monica said, immediately terrified by the tone of her voice. She moved to the door. "What's wrong?"

"I'm bleeding," came the small voice.

Every muscle in Monica's body immediately tensed with terror.

"Bleeding?" she said. "What do you mean?"

"You're not due?" Christi asked, coming to Monica's side.

"No, I ..."

"Are you sure?" Christi asked.

"It's from my urethra," Dana said, voice slow and scared. "It's in my urine."

Fear completely took hold of Monica. Blood in the urine could only mean she was bleeding internally, and internal bleeding could be fatal. She was rooted to the spot in blind fear. Glancing sideways she saw Christi shared the same expression.

Christi recovered first. When she spoke again her voice was strong and in control.

"Okay, just stay calm, Dana. How bad is it? Is it a lot?"

"I don't know," she answered. "It's hard to tell ... it's ..."

"Is the water red?" Monica asked.

"Yes ..."

It was like another knife had stabbed her, and Monica gripped the edge of the cubicle with one hand to steady herself.

"Okay, Dana," Christi said. "It's going to be okay. I'm going to call the paramedics and fetch the others, and then we need to get you lying down."

"You go," Monica said. "I'll help her."

Christi nodded. They were both too scared to hang around.

"Give her this," Christi said, withdrawing a pad from her handbag.

Monica took it in her hand and Christi hurried out of the room, the door slamming shut behind her. Monica heard her jog up the corridor.

"Dana, I need you to open the door," Monica said, forcing her voice to stay calm. "Can you reach?"

There was a small gasp of pain, but a second later the lock twisted to 'Vacant' and the door fell open an inch. Monica put her hand to the door and gently pushed it open. The cubicles were relatively short, and Dana had to twist her legs to the side for a second in order that Monica to get the door fully open.

Having prepared herself for the sight, it did not immediately hit her as hard it could have. Dana was sitting on the toilet with her black pants around her ankles, and her arms crossed over her abdomen. But her face was where the fear was. Her eyes looked up to Monica's, wide and scared, and Monica, keeping her eyes on her friend's face and away from her groin, squeezed her shoulder.

"It's okay," Monica said, with a confidence and a calm in complete contradiction to how she felt.

Monica handed her the pad, which was wrapped in plastic with pink love hearts, thinking as she did that it was a good thing Christi had one with her.

"Clean yourself up, use this, and then I'll help you lie down."

Dana's white fingers grasped the pad. She sighed with fear and pain, and Monica squeezed her shoulder again.

"Can you manage?" Monica asked.

Having delivered William, Monica was largely immune to being embarrassed about the prospect of helping her. Before the experience in Democrat Hot Springs, she definitely _would _have felt uncomfortable, but now, having already been catapulted into helping her through that humiliating experience, she had emerged from the other side of it with a new, exhilarating confidence that there was nothing she couldn't do.

"Yeah, I can manage," Dana said.

Monica was relieved to hear that some of the fear had disappeared from her voice. She was pulling herself together. She reached for the toilet paper and Monica stepped out of the cubicle, turning her back and averting her eyes, too, from the mirror.

Monica unpinned her FBI identification from her coat, and repinned it to hang from the waist of her jeans. She then stripped off her coat and rolled it into a ball to use as a pillow. Then she waited patiently, trying to calm herself, as she listened to the sounds of Dana behind her. She heard her tear open the plastic, and drop it into the bin with a thud of the lid, and a moment later, Monica heard a gasp of pain as she stood, and then the toilet flush.

Monica turned back to her. Dana was standing now, and Monica moved into the cubicle, with her coat still clutched in one hand, and slid her free arm around her friend's narrow waist.

"Take it slow," Monica said. "You don't want to do more damage."

Just then she heard pounding footsteps of the others running down the corridor, and as Monica got Dana to the cubicle entrance the door swung open, crashing against the wall, and Mulder came charging through. Charlie was behind him, then John and Christi. All of their faces were filled with fear.

"Give me a hand," Monica shot at Mulder, but the words were redundant, as he was already running toward them.

Mulder took Dana's other side and they walked her to the open space between the cubicles and the sink. Then, very slowly, they helped her down to the floor. Monica put her rolled up coat there and supported her friend's neck as they lowered her down. Her head resting on the coat, and her body lying flat on the cold floor, she closed her eyes. One arm was lying across her stomach, but the other sought Mulder's hand and he took it gently in his own.

"You'd better call your mother," Mulder said to Charlie.

Charlie nodded and turned to leave again for the X-Files office, but Christi held out a pink cell phone for him. He took it, but still left the room to make the call in private.

Dana's eyes opened again, and they surveyed the crowd around her. Monica knelt on one side of her, Mulder on the other. Christi stood behind them in the doorway, and John was standing beside Monica, slipping off his grey coat.

"You don't need to worry," Dana said.

"Don't talk," Mulder said worriedly, reaching to stroke her face with his fingers. "Just lie still."

"I'm fine, Mulder," she said.

"That's what I think whenever I start pissin' blood," John cut in. He knelt down by Monica and gently spread his coat over Dana's body in an effort to keep her warm and from going into shock. Monica helped arrange it, feeling frustrated by how little she could do. Calls to the emergency services were put through via security, and it would be security who would lead the paramedics down to meet them. So it was a game of waiting, of sitting there in the silence of the night and trying not to think about how very serious it was.

"You'll come with me?" Dana asked, twisting her head to look Mulder in the eye. "In the ambulance?"

"Of course," Mulder said, stroking her face and tucking some red strands behind her ear. "Don't worry."

Monica felt a pain inside at the realisation that they would have to part. Only one person could travel with her in the ambulance, and that person, would, of course, have to be Mulder. Herself and John would have to follow behind, arriving later. The thought made her feel incredibly uncomfortable, almost rejected and second best.

Then Monica realised Dana was looking at her. Her arm that had been grasping her stomach slid out from under John's coat and sought Monica's. Monica took it, holding it in both of hers. Then, with surprise, she realised she was crying.

"I love you all, you know," Dana said, looking from Mulder, to Monica, and to John.

The statement only made Monica feel even worse, because though Dana said she was fine, the words sounded like a farewell.

She desperately tried to swallow her emotions. She must be brave, must stay tough for her friend's sake.

"We know," Monica said, squeezing the hand she was holding. "We love you too."

"You'll be fine," John said encouragingly. "Don't worry about us, we'll meet you there in no time."

Distant sirens pierced the air. Dana sighed and closed her eyes again.

"Just relax," Mulder said.

She turned her head to the side, as if sleeping. The sirens became louder ...

"I love you," she said again, in near a whisper.

Monica felt the tears slip down her cheeks. She made this so hard. As if she wasn't scared enough already.

"Don't say it," Monica begged her.

Dana's eyes opened.

Thankfully, John backed her up.

"Don't ever talk like that," he said. "_Ever_."

And the sirens became louder again.


	11. Chapter 11

_Thanks to all those kind people who sent reviews encouraging me to write more! Sorry I'm so late with it, my life is really busy right now and I also couldn't quite get this right. I rewrote this first scene quite a few times and it's still not quite there. **

* * *

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_**Chapter 36 - At the Hospital**_

They had taken Scully quickly, wheeled her down a bright corridor escorted by a horde of white coats. Mulder knew that before the accident, they would have been lucky to secure one white coat, but now the famous Dana Scully had appeared and broken the monotony of a dead winters night for the hospital staff, she became the eye of the tornado. He hadn't been able to say a proper goodbye. He had jogged along beside the trolley, his hand grasping her pale one, eyes struggling to catch hers. But whenever she glanced at him her eyes darted away again because she could not stand to see his terror, and in doing so, comprehend the possibilities herself. And then another doctor with a tall and bulky frame took him squarely with a shovel-like hand on each of his shoulders, and Mulder was left to watch Scully disappear around a corner and subsequently be trapped in tidal wave of hospital bureaucracy, which started with a request for him to fill out the admission forms.

The young blonde woman behind the long admission desk was nice, but Mulder couldn't help not giving a damn, about both their stupid forms and ridiculous rules of having to be separated from Scully with no news to soothe him. He scribbled down her details in the relevant boxes, and then slapped down the pen moodily and cast his eyes frantically around the waiting area, shifting from foot to foot, searching for something to do.

"Is there someone you'd like us to call?" the young lady asked kindly. "Her mother?"

"They're already on their way," Mulder replied.

But under the girl's sympathetic eyes he suddenly felt guilty for wanting to rage at her, and he tried to collect himself. He took a deep breath.

"Would you like to sit down?" she suggested, with an air of sympathy to his helplessness. "We'll let you know the second we know anything."

He had no better ideas, and so he crossed to the small waiting area and plonked himself down on a hard plastic seat. A few seats away a young black woman sat with a little boy on her lap, and she looked at him curiously, but he ignored her and lowered his head into his hands, feeling it was either going to explode or crush from the pressure of his own grip.

Time passed. His fear gripped him completely and blocked out the surrounding area in a blur of noise. He heard voices of nurses and doctors, the tapping of footsteps on the lino floor, the whoosh of the automatic doors opening once or twice, and the sounds of cars rolling past the entrance. They were driving slowly now, because it had begun to snow quite heavily, and the conditions were getting worse by the second. He found himself craving the presence of John and Monica, wishing they would hurry up and join him so he could feel comfort from their company. But he knew they would be several minutes. It was not a long way from the Hoover building, but they, along with Christi and Charlie, had had to rush to the basement car park, and they would have to bring both cars - the one he had driven to the FBI in himself, and also the one in which they had chased him in. Also, he knew Christi and Charlie did not know DC that well, and would probably have to be given directions. Somehow, he instinctively knew that John and Monica would not separate to take each car themselves, but would probably lead the other two there, them following behind.

But he craved their presence, especially Monica's. Something about Monica was naturally calming in situations like these, because in a crisis she never flipped and always kept her head. Just like she had on the mountain, he thought. The three of them had been ready to give up and die, and Monica had been the only one to keep her mind in one piece and had ended up saving all of them. Whenever one of her friends was at risk, she rose to the occasion and was a powerful source of strength. And now he needed that strength from her, and from John, needed their understanding to help fight off the uneasiness he felt from the many people he knew were watching him. He could not bear to lift his head, or raise his eyes, but he knew they were there. Even the presence of Bill Scully would be welcomed now, he thought, because Bill wouldn't stand for the harassment in any form. He, like all their relatives, like Jana Cassidy and the FBI, fought off the crowds on their behalf, because the four of them didn't yet have the strength to do it themselves. The Scullys, the Doggetts, the Reyeses, and the senior figures of the FBI were the Great Wall that surrounded them and blocked off the public world which they could not yet face, nor even think of facing. But that Wall was not with him now, and he needed it desperately. He felt so alone, so exposed, so conspicuous sitting there with his head in his hands, not daring to look up.

The automatic doors whooshed open again and an icy gale blew around his legs. There were more hurried footsteps, and then a voice he recognised: the rough voice of John Doggett.

"Mulder ..."

He let one of his hands fall away slightly and tilted his head to see them hurrying toward him. John led the pack, practically jogging past the woman who held her son in her lap. She looked up as the group moved past her, but none of them paid her any attention. Monica was next to him. The shoulders of her coat held some stray snowflakes, and there were a few clinging to strands of her brown hair, too. Then, behind them followed Charlie and Christi. Both of them were also were also carrying snowflakes on their clothes and hair, and Christi's cheeks were pink from the freeze.

"How is she?" John asked, as they came to his side and stopped. The four of them were breathing heavily as though they had run from the Hoover building rather than driven, and they were still being consumed by such panic-induced adrenaline that they hovered beside him and did not immediately sit down.

Mulder leaned back in his seat and sighed. He still felt terrified, but their presence helped. At least now he wasn't alone with his fear.

"They took her for scans," he said. His voice shook as he spoke.

There was a moment of silence as they absorbed the statement. Mulder knew it was hard to know how long it would be before they knew something. How long the scans took depended on what they found, and if they had to take action afterward, like surgery ...

"It could be a while, then," Charlie said. His face was white, but Mulder saw him struggle to keep control, and after a second Charlie moved to sit down beside Mulder.

"How was she when you left her?" Monica asked. John's hand had gripped her elbow, subconsciously seeking her comfort, but for once she didn't notice.

Mulder considered the question. He thought of Scully refusing to look at him. Normally, in past trips to hospital, she was in control, prepared to give the doctor a complete summary of her condition and practically perform the operation herself. This time, she had been in the hold of something else. There was uncertainty, nervousness, a paralysing fear ... and not just because of the bruise to her stomach, but because of some kind of terrifying illness the four of them had picked up in the Rockies. Something that had changed them, crippled them ... something he couldn't yet make sense of ...

"I don't know," he said, shaking his head. The realisation made his heart sink even further. "Not good."

"Is she okay alone, do you think?" Christi asked, sitting down on the other side of Charlie.

Again he thought of Scully's fear, and again he struggled to find an answer. "I don't know."

There was silence then. Everyone had seemed to have run out of questions to ask, things they could say or do to help. It was a game of waiting now, hoping that Scully would cope with whatever physical and psychological consequences were thrown her way. She needed them, they needed her, but hospital procedure dictated they would have to glue their asses to plastic chairs. God how Mulder hated hospitals. Mulder sighed and leaned forward again, resting his head back in his hands. He almost wished that there would be an emergency - a car accident victim being hurried in, some kind of catastrophe that could distract them from their fear. But there was nothing. The snow continued to fall outside, the young lady behind the desk continued to tap away at the computer, and the hospital continued to rest in the grip of a lethargic winters night.

"She's gonna need surgery," John said suddenly. He rubbed his eyes with one hand, and then stuffed it back in the pocket of his grey coat.

"You don't know that," Monica said bravely, slipping her hand down to squeeze his. "She may not."

Christi raised her tired eyes to her brother. "If it was something serious she would've known straight away. She would never have got as far as the FBI."

"Are you calling bleeding not serious?" Mulder asked.

But Christi ignored his tone, accepting and understanding how stretched his nerves were.

"She's a doctor," Monica said. "She would've known."

Monica left John's side, squeezing his hand one last time before letting go and crouching down before Mulder. She slipped a hand onto his knee and rubbed softly.

"Even if she does need surgery, she went through it before, when she was shot," Monica said. "That was much worse and she came through it with ease."

Mulder sighed. "It's different now."

"Mom's here," Charlie said suddenly.

Mulder looked up, past John, to see the Scullys enter through the automatic doors. Another cold breeze swirled around his legs, piercing him even through his jeans. Charlie walked over and met his mother, Tara, and Bill, in the doorway and Mrs Scully headed straight for him, her eyes searching desperately for news. The four Scullys gathered in a circle and began talking in hurried, yet low, voices.

"Why is it different?" Monica asked, picking up their conversation again. "She has her family, she has us, and as long as she can count on our love she'll make it through anything."

"If she's not dead before then," John said bluntly.

Christi's eyes spun toward her brother. In a second she was back on her feet and had her arm around him, rubbing his back. John's eyes were moist.

"_Stop_," Monica said firmly. "Don't even _think _it. She'll need us to be strong for her, and saying that doesn't help."

John looked away from them all and down to the floor, looking ashamed. Mulder raised one of his hands to wipe his eyes, sweeping aside tears he had barely known he was crying. Monica continued to rub his knee.

"Now it's probably something small," Monica said, "but if it _is _serious, then we'll get her through it. No matter how long we have to stay here, no matter how much it costs, no matter what rehabilitation she might need. We'll pull her through." She paused. Her brown eyes were determined. "Okay?"

Mulder nodded. He wiped away a few more tears with his hand and swallowed. "Okay."

"John?"

He looked as though he was struggling to breathe with all the stress and emotion. His chest was rising up and down, and his eyes were still teary, but after a moment's pause, his expression hardened and he nodded.

"Okay," he said, drawing in a deep breath to steady himself. "Whatever it takes."

"Good," she said, and she seemed to relax a bit herself.

Mulder then realised that sometime during Monica's speech, the Scullys had all moved toward them, wanting to join them but not game to interrupt. They stood behind John and Christi, Mrs Scully eyeing them. She had plainly been listening to the entire conversation. And now that there was a pause in the talk, Tara slipped around John's side, patting his shoulder as she did and sat herself down in the chair opposite Mulder. Bill joined her. Both of them looked as though they had climbed out of bed in a hurry. Bill's hair was fuzzy from a restless sleep. Tara's blonde hair, hanging to her shoulders, hadn't been brushed, either.

"There's no sense in worrying until we know what's wrong," Tara said, her voice gentle and confident, that of a mother soothing a child.

Mrs Scully emerged on John's side and patted his arm as Tara had done. Her eyes studied all three of them, passing from John to Monica crouched on the floor, and then to Mulder. Mulder felt dampness on his cheeks, knew he was still crying and felt a little embarrassed. He looked away.

"Here, dry your eyes," Christi said, digging into her coat pocket and pulling out fresh tissues. She handed some to Mulder, then to John and Monica. "Don't let her see you've been crying. It'll just drain her if she has to fret about you."

Mulder took the tissues she offered, murmured a thanks, and used them to wipe his eyes and nose. Monica, not yet crying, slipped her own into her pocket for later use. John blew his nose noisily.

Mrs Scully moved amongst them to sit down beside Mulder, in the chair Charlie had vacated. The intense worry he had seen on her face when she first entered the hospital had gone, and now there was a confidence, and a motherly affection as she put her arm around him like he was her own son.

"Pull yourself together, Fox," she said affectionately, rubbing up and down on his back. "She won't make it without you."

Then her eyes fell on Monica and she patted the spare seat on her other side.

"Sit down," she said, holding her hand out to Monica. Monica obeyed seemingly without a thought, standing up and moving over to sit down beside Mrs Scully. Mrs Scully reached for her hand and took it in her own. Monica looked a little surprised by the gesture, but Mrs Scully smiled a little, and squeezed her hand tight once.

Christi then stepped back and nudged John in the direction of the seat beside Monica, and he sat down with a heavy sigh. Christi sat beside him.

Charlie moved to sit next to Tara.

And then they waited.

XXX

In the end the wait wasn't as long as Monica had feared. Of course, they had eaten up a lot of time driving to the hospital, but it was still only just over half an hour, or near three o'clock, until the doctor came to find them.

The doctor's name was Lyn Prichard and Monica estimated that she was in her late thirties. She had frizzy brown hair that was tied up out of the way, but she also had a kind smile, and when she walked down the corridor and headed for them, Monica instantly knew that everything was going to be okay from the way the woman's eyes were shining with relief at being the bringer of good news.

"Is she all right?" Mulder said, leaping to his feet first and out from the under the arm of Mrs Scully.

"She's fine," the doctor said, smiling widely and stopping in their circle as they all stood up to meet her.

"What was it?" Mrs Scully asked, grasping Mulder's wrist. "The bleeding?"

"It's just a bladder contusion - a bruising of the wall of the bladder. We've inserted a catheter to keep her bladder drained while it heals, and we'll have to keep her for observation for a day or two, but with some good rest, she'll be perfectly fine."

Monica sighed with relief. John's hand, that had been resting on her shoulder, slackened. There were echoes of her relieved sigh through Bill, Tara and Christi.

"Is she in pain?" Charlie asked.

"Yes, she is in a little pain, but we've given her something which should help and she should sleep for several hours now."

"Can we see her?" John asked.

"Sure," the doctor said, and she gave them directions to the private room into which Scully had been moved.

But before any of them could move, Christi held them back by asking another question.

"How's she coping emotionally?" Christi asked, narrowing her eyes as though something was off.

The doctor hesitated and her smile fell. Monica froze; the look on her face scared her.

"Not so well," the doctor said, lowering her voice. "She was crying when I went to insert the catheter. I had to calm her down a fair bit before I could complete the procedure. But she's certainly no worse than I would expect, given what she's been through."

Christi nodded gravely. Monica half wished she hadn't asked. It hurt to imagine Dana crying alone and only having strangers to comfort her. She felt a surge of irritation that no one had thought to fetch them. The hospital might think the insertion of a catheter would be a necessarily private procedure, but for them, it didn't have to be. They had been through too much to let it bother them, and none of them would have been fazed by having to sit with her. Monica, especially, wasn't bothered by the thought, and not only because she had delivered William, but because she had once had a catheter as well, after her car accident in which Preijers had tried to kill her. Granted, she had been brain dead at the time it had been inserted, but she still recalled the embarrassment and discomfort of having it there, and the immense relief she had felt when it had been removed. She knew, too, that John had been through the same thing when he had been in a coma only a few months before.

"You go on," Christi said, looking to Mulder and Mrs Scully. "Go see her."

Mrs Scully didn't need any further encouragement. The doctor's report on her daughter's emotional condition had only made the need to see her more urgent. She squeezed Christi's shoulder appreciatively as she passed her, and then left with Mulder and her family. But Monica held back for a second, as did John.

"What about you?" John asked his sister.

"Just go," Christi said. "I'll catch up."

Monica felt torn between her desire to rush to Dana's side, and a strange need to stay, but at the look on Christi's face she took John's hand and began to lead him after the others, heading for the elevators. John began to walk with her, but when they were a few steps away he looked over his shoulder. Monica did, too, and saw Christi and the doctor deep in hushed conversation already. Christi's face was worried, and Monica couldn't help wondering what it was all about. But she had to leave it to her, had to trust her, because right now Dana needed them more.

XXX

The room given to Scully was on the second floor. It was a private room, and up the quiet end of the corridor, away from the lift lobby and the nurses' station. Monica and John held back to let Mulder and the Scullys go in first, and then edged together into the doorway.

Scully was lying in bed, dressed in a light blue hospital gown. The pain killers they had put her on were apparently already taking effect, as she opened her eyes halfway and looked up at them drowsily before closing them again almost immediately. She looked exhausted, only just able to stay awake but not having the energy to keep her eyes open and focus on her visitors. Monica couldn't help noticing her eyes were red from crying, and her cheeks were still wet.

"Dana," Mrs Scully said gently, crossing to the far side of her bed and sitting down on the edge. She leaned over her daughter, kissed her on the forehead, and stroked her hair.

"Mom," Scully murmured, forcing her eyes open again.

Bill, Tara and Charlie stood near Mrs Scully, and Dana passed her gaze over each of them in turn. Then she turned her head to the other side of the bed, to where Mulder was standing.

"Mulder," she breathed, and she lazily stretched out an arm toward him.

"Hey," he replied, smiling widely at her. He sat himself down on the bed, but Monica saw him glance at the bag that was hanging from the lowered bed rail, a tube from which disappeared under the blankets to her catheter. He deliberately positioned himself above it, not wanting to mistakenly sit on top of it. Then he took her hand warmly in his and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. Her eyelids fluttered closed again for a moment, but then they opened again a second or two later, and her eyes sought out Monica and John.

Monica moved up into her field of vision, standing beside the bedside table. She smiled down at her friend. John moved up next to her.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Tired," she replied, her eyes drifting closed again. She did not immediately open them again.

"Go to sleep, Dana," Mrs Scully said, resting her hand warmly on her daughter's shoulder. "Don't fight it."

But she did, forcing her eyes open one final time. Her gaze was distressed this time, as she looked from Mulder to Monica and John. Her mouth opened a fraction, but she could not find the courage to voice the words, although Monica knew what they were going to be without needing to hear them.

"We're not going anywhere," she said. "Don't worry."

Scully's gaze relaxed. "Thank you."

Monica felt a warmth through her chest as she smiled down at her fragile friend, terrified to go to sleep alone for fear the nightmares would consume her. But as quickly as the love had warmed her, she felt again the heaviness of their predicament, of all that had happened to force the strong Dana Scully into this position of being completely dependent on their company to merely survive from one moment to the next, the dependency that, in their absence, had broken her down in tears when she was left alone with the doctor.

Dana gazed at them for a few moments, as did her family members, watching the silent interaction between the four of them.

"You want us to sit on the end of the bed?" John asked, taking Monica's elbow and leading her in that direction. He moved around to the far side where Mrs Scully was and sat beside Dana's ankles. Monica took the side where Mulder was and did the same, perching on the edge of the bed near her friend's feet. She knew what John was doing; knew Dana would not go to sleep unless she could feel their presence, and she would be able to feel the security of their presence through their weight on the end of her mattress.

Monica put a hand on her friend's feet, rubbing softly. She felt Scully wiggle her toes a little in response.

"Close your eyes," Monica said. "We'll be right here."

Scully closed her eyes. Mulder tightened his hand around hers, and then leaned over and kissed her again on the cheek.

"Relax," he murmured. "We'll be your dreamcatcher. You don't have to remember anything tonight."

There was a small sigh from Scully, and she relaxed, letting herself slip into a deep sleep. Mulder continued to hold her hand, his thumb rubbing over her fingers. But he was so busy gazing at Scully, eyes full of concerned love, that he did not see what Monica saw. Mulder did not see Dana's family watching him. He did not see the way Mrs Scully's eyes were trained onto their joined hands, a smile curving up at the edge of her mouth. He did not see Charlie's admiration, Tara's smile, or the look on Bill's face ... which Monica could only describe as dawning comprehension.

XXX

They all sat and stood in silence for several minutes until they were sure Dana had fallen asleep. Her breathing had been softer, her face not so tense, and her fingers slackened around Mulder's. Mrs Scully then removed her hand from her daughter's shoulder and looked around at her two sons and daughter-in-law. Her eyes passed also to the small window that showed it was still snowing heavily outside in the dark night.

"You may as well go get some sleep," Mulder said, looking specifically at Tara. Monica knew he was thinking of her pregnancy and the toll all this stress could have on her.

Tara nodded slightly. They all knew there was no sense in all of them staying, nothing to be achieved by the whole lot of them sitting there in silence for the next however many hours until Dana woke. But it was still wasn't easy to part, when her family leaped out of bed and hurried to the hospital, had spent half an hour praying she would be okay.

"We'll stay," John assured them. "She'll be all right."

"I doubt they're gonna let you stay," Bill said quietly. "You know how hospitals are."

Monica's heart sank. She knew Bill had a point. The hospital staff would not permit them all to stay the whole night.

"Maybe we can have a word with them," Mrs Scully suggested, looking from Mulder to John and Monica with eyes that told exactly how much she understood.

"I already did," came Christi's voice.

Monica looked around to the doorway to see Christi entering with Doctor Prichard. Christi looked exhausted. She had been up well over twenty-four hours now and it was a day that had taken a heavy toll on her energy levels. She crossed to stand at the end of the bed and looked at the sleeping Dana. The doctor crossed to them as well.

"You're free to stay if you like," the doctor said softly, putting a sympathetic hand on Monica's shoulder. "We understand. I'm going to go see if I can scrounge some more comfortable chairs for you."

There was already one comfortable old armchair in the far corner, next to the door that led to the private bathroom, but as at least three of them were staying, this wasn't adequate.

"Thank you," Mulder said politely.

The doctor left the room, closing the door behind her, and John looked up at Christi.

"What did you say to her?" he asked curiously.

"It doesn't matter," Christi said evasively. "But they'll leave you alone now."

"Thank you," Monica said gratefully.

"It's okay, I'm glad to help," Christi answered, voice close to a whisper to avoid waking Scully. She looked back at John and sighed. "But if it's okay with you I think I'm gonna head back for a couple of hours. I don't how much longer I can keep my eyes open."

"Of course," he said, nodding with perfect understanding. "You've done enough."

"Are you sure you're okay to drive?" Mrs Scully asked, getting to her feet and crossing to Christi's side.

"Yeah," Christi said. "It'll be a quick trip. Not much around this time of night."

"It's snowing," Tara said, nodding to the window.

"Maybe you're better off coming home with us," Mrs Scully said. "We have plenty of room."

Christi shook her head politely. "No, I -"

"You can take my apartment if you like," Monica offered. "It's only a few blocks away."

"No, it's okay. All my stuff's at John's, anyway."

Mrs Scully still looked doubtful. "You shouldn't be driving. You've been up _far _too long ..."

"I'll drive her," Charlie said, stepping forward. "All my things are there as well."

A minute later the deal was done. Charlie would drive Christi back to John's, the Scullys would go home to Mrs Scully's house, and they would all catch a few hours' sleep before meeting again around eight or nine. Mrs Scully lightly kissed her sleeping daughter goodbye, leaned over the bed to do the same to Mulder, and then put a hand on John's shoulder.

"Are you sure you'll be okay alone?" she asked, looking at them with concern.

"We'll be fine," John said.

"Don't worry," Monica added, thinking privately that she would welcome the opportunity for the four of them to be alone for a while. They had not been completely alone since they were on the mountain.

Mrs Scully still looked a little worried, but she gave in, perhaps sensing Monica's reasoning, squeezing John's shoulder and putting a hand down the side of Monica's hair, and then walking with her family and Christi to the door.

"You'll call us if you need us?" she asked, turning around with a hand on the handle.

"Right away," Mulder said, nodding kindly at her.

She smiled gratefully, and then left with her family.

XXX

Charlie moved his sister's car to the kerb outside John Doggett's house in Falls Church. He shut off the ignition and then sat for a moment in the silence, looking at the woman asleep in the passenger seat. Christi was curled up facing the door. Her wavy blonde hair had fallen out, and her head was leaning against her seat belt. She had fallen asleep before Charlie had even steered the car out of the hospital car park. A block or two down he had noticed the way she was hugging herself to fend off the cold and he had turned the heater on to keep her warm. From then on, she had been in a deep sleep, and he wondered now whether he could be cruel enough to wake her.

Of course, he could not leave her there in the car. He _had _to wake her. But she looked so peaceful, and dare he say it - beautiful - and she so desperately needed this sleep.

He paused for a moment, gazing out through the windscreen at the falling snow, and then made a decision and unsnapped his belt. He opened his car door, slipped Dana's car keys into his pocket, quietly shut the door again, and then moved around to the opposite side of the car. He opened Christi's door gently, almost afraid she was leaning against it and would topple out onto the road. Then he softly tapped her shoulder.

"Wakey, wakey," he said.

Her head turned slightly and some of her blonde hair slid down to hang over her cheek.

"Go to hell," she slurred.

Charlie laughed to himself and shook her shoulder a little firmer. "Hey, come on. You stay here, you'll freeze."

She acknowledged his statement with a slight grunt, but appeared to be going back to sleep.

"If you don't freeze you'll get mugged by the media when dawn breaks," he teased.

She didn't reply to this one, and he realised she was drifting off again.

Shaking his head with amusement, he leaned across her and unsnapped her belt, let it reel itself back up, and then took her elbow and tugged on it gently.

"Come on," he said softly.

She gave a huge sigh and her eyes opened, their blue gazing at him with complete exhaustion. Charlie helped her out of the car and shut the door behind her. They walked side by side to John's front door, although Charlie kept an arm hovering behind her waist, because the ground was wet and very slippery, and Christi was walking like a sleepwalker, rubbing her eyes as she went and not looking where she was stepping.

They stopped at the door and Christi paused to find the right key on her key ring. She sorted through the bits of metal before settling on a gold one. She went to try to slip it into the lock, but was so tired her aim was off and it grazed the surrounding metal.

"You know, this ruins my record," Charlie said light-heartedly. "Usually when I take a girl home this is the point where I kiss her goodnight."

Christi finally slid the key into the hole and then stopped to glance over her shoulder at him. A sleepy, teasing smile crossed onto her lips.

She said jokingly, "You're ruining mine. Usually when a handsome man brings _me _home this is the point where I jam him against the wall and screw him silly."

Charlie felt wrong-footed, and he stood there dumbly for a second as Christi opened the door, withdrew the keys, and then began shrugging off her coat to hang it on one of the pegs. She had a grin on her face. Her eyes twinkled. Charlie couldn't help smiling along.

"But," she said, raising her grin to him as he stepped inside, "seeing as I'm this tired I'm afraid you're gonna miss out."

Still smiling to herself, she disappeared around the corner into the living room. Charlie followed her. He had no intention of making a move, no matter how attractive he found her, but it was fun to tease and release the unbearable tension from everything else that was happening. And he knew she felt the same, and had felt glad that they were able to laugh about the oddness of the situation rather than feel awkward with each other.

He watched as she dumped her bag onto the coffee table, and slipped off her shoes at the base of the couch. Then, with an exaggerated groan, she flopped onto the couch and closed her eyes.

Charlie crossed to the space in front of the fire where Mulder, Dana and John had been sleeping earlier and picked up a pillow and blanket. He crossed back to Christi, put the pillow at the head of the couch, and then shook out the blanket and placed it over her body.

Her eyes opened as he did this, and she reached up a hand and raised her head to pull the pillow down toward her. She looked so exhausted, so dead, that Charlie stood there for a moment, her condition revealing to him exactly how much of the burden she was carrying.

"You don't have to do everything, you know," he said. "We're all here to share the burden equally."

"Yeah, I know," she said, eyes still closed. "But I'll be fine."

Charlie nodded, even though she couldn't see him do it. He knew there would be no point in arguing.

"But I tell you," Christi said, opening her eyes and shifting into a more comfortable position. "When this is over I'm going to sleep for a month straight."

He laughed, in full agreement. Then she sighed tiredly again and he made his way to the stairs, heading for the bedroom John had loaned him.

Then he had a sudden thought.

"Christi?" he said, turning around.

"Mmm?" she replied, eyes opening a fraction.

"What's your real name?"

She smiled. "Christina. Christina Mary Doggett."

Charlie smiled back. Mary, he thought ... Christina Mary ...

He started toward the stairs again. He was halfway up when she called his name.

"Charlie?"

He stopped and looked down over the railing. Her teasing expression had gone, and she looked at him with a completely straight face.

"I'm a lesbian."

Then she rolled over, shut her eyes, and went to sleep, leaving Charlie to wonder whether she had been serious.

XXX

"John, don't worry, they'll be fine," Monica said, looking at John, who was staring out the window, hands in his pockets, looking unsure about the snowstorm that their relatives were driving in.

John sighed and turned around. He rubbed his eyes tiredly again and sat back down on the end of Scully's bed. Monica sat herself in one of the soft armchairs that Doctor Prichard and two helpful nurses had shifted in for them. There were now four armchairs around the bed, and a stack of magazines from the waiting room to entertain them as well. Mulder was still watching Scully sleep, and was doing it with such heart that Monica thought he wouldn't move until she woke. And in the silence that settled between them all, Monica's thoughts began to creep back to the mountain. She fought them off, pushing her hair back and reaching for the top magazine on the pile, seeking a distraction. _Any _distraction.

"Watcha got?" John asked softly. His eyes watched as she flicked open to a centre page, and she could tell that he could not stand the silence, either. Like her, his thoughts drifted to unpleasant places when in the company of silence.

Monica turned around the magazine and held it up for him to see. The heading on the glossy page read, "Get Wild for Winter - Top 20 Sexy Getaways". The pages were covered in photos of romantic vacation spots, including isolated ski resorts, and sunny beaches from the southern states.

"Thinkin' of having a steamy weekend away?" he teased, a smile on his lips as he watched her peruse the list.

"With who?" Monica replied. "Besides, personally I'd say it's not the location so much as what you do there."

"Yeah, well maybe if we'd all had partners up in the Rockies the time might've passed a little easer," John said, joking half-heartedly.

Monica looked at him over the top of the magazine and her crossed legs. She couldn't help smiling.

"Under the noses of Brad and Skinner?" she asked incredulously. "That really _would've _been wild."

Mulder looked around at them. "That'd have us in the papers for a whole other reason. As much as I think I'm ill-suited to falling under a headline of 'FBI HEROES' I think I'd prefer to 'FBI ORGY'."

Monica laughed. "You're right about that. I'd rather be called a hero than a slut."

"Well you _are _a hero," John said.

But Monica was uncomfortable with the title, and even more uncomfortable with the look of honest admiration that was radiating from John's eyes. She opened her mouth to reply, but couldn't, and after a second just looked down again and turned the page of the magazine.

"I wish they were here, though," John said, sighing.

Monica looked up again.

"Skinner?" Mulder asked.

John nodded. "And Holly, Kim ..."

Monica's heart sank. She turned the page again although she wasn't reading now. Her fingers just needed something to do.

"... it's not right," John finished.

"Well I think that's half the battle," Mulder said. "The hardest part is accepting that it had nothing to do with right and wrong, that there was no reason in anything that happened, that we were powerless in the face of Mother Nature. I think that in the case of any trauma the human mind is conditioned to make sense of it, to look for patterns of reason and consequence, when the only real conclusion that can be drawn is that it was chance. And that despite all the advances in civilisation and technology, the human race has no more power than it did ten thousand years ago, when we were still hunter-gatherer societies and living barefoot amongst our enemies."

"I know," John said, shrugging. "I just wish they were here."

He looked so forelorn that Monica put aside her magazine and moved back to the bed. She sat down again beside Scully's feet and reached across to put a hand on the shoulder of John's grey coat.

"I don't think it was all chance," Monica said. "Not all of it. We could've saved Holly, and Brad ... there was no reason why either of them had to die."

"Holly would never have made it," John said sadly. "She never would've been able to hike out on that leg."

"Well maybe not, but we would've figured something out," Monica said. "Somehow ..."

"You'll only tear yourself to pieces, thinking of the what ifs," Mulder said, looking at her with concern. "Best to avoid them. We'll never get to know what might have happened if we'd played out our other options. You're only deluding yourself if you think there was a missed opportunity where everyone could have escaped, happy and healthy, and gone on smiling away until they were a hundred years of age. And I think that to think it is probably showing a dangerous lack of respect for the environment we were in. Like Scully said at Follmer's funeral today, the forces we were up against were greater than any of us, and I think all we can do is appreciate what a miracle it was that _any _of us made it out alive. Because we shouldn't have."

Monica knew he was talking sense, that they had been powerless throughout the whole two weeks, but to let go of reason, to accept that it was fate that her friends had had to die, was too hard for her to do.

"Maybe," she said. She lowered her eyes to the white blankets, and her hand slipped off John's shoulder. He took her hand warmly in both of his, holding them together in his lap.

"I think the most we can do now is to look after Scully," Mulder went on, nodding down at the sleeping redhead. "And save ourselves."

"We're out," Monica reminded him. "We'll be okay."

"Are we?" Mulder questioned.

There was a pause. Monica looked into Mulder's sad face, and thought she saw the shadows and ghosts that her parents were talking about seeing in _her_. He looked haunted.

"I think that ... the scariest thing is that, in some ways, the people we lost were the lucky ones. For them it had an end. Their spirits got out of the mountains. Whereas ours never will. We're there for eternity."

"That's depressing," John said.

"Pessimistic," Monica added. "I mean, it might hurt, but we're still alive, and when this is all over we can eventually move on and reconstruct our lives."

"And when's it over?" Mulder asked.

Monica opened her mouth to state the obvious, but then hesitated. She had been going to say at the end of the week, when the last funeral - Skinner's funeral - was over and when their families would be comfortable going home again and leaving them alone. But, she thought after a moment, maybe that wasn't it. The hurt would surely last longer than a week. The psychologists they had talked to at the hospital had always talked of four to six weeks before their rollercoaster emotions began to settle. Was that when it was over? Or, perhaps, was it over when they were admitted back into the FBI and were working full time again? Or, she thought, her heart sinking further, when the last remembrance service was over? But they would go on for years ... this would be written in history ...

"Have you ever really thought about it?" Mulder went on sadly. He nodded down again at Scully. "Have you ever talked to Scully about the death of her sister? It was seven years ago now, but when she speaks of it her eyes well up as though it was yesterday. It pains her just as much as it did then, and she'll never get over it. She can't just abandon thirty years of love for her sister, of fond memories and heart-to-heart conversations. She tries to push it back, but it's always there, and Melissa is with her wherever she goes."

Monica looked down at the sleeping Scully, head sideways against the pillow, Mulder still holding her hand to reassure her they were all present. No, she had not asked Scully openly about her sister, because she knew it would only cause her immense pain to bring the subject up.

"I still remember Samantha," Mulder admitted. "And it's a memory I've played in my head over and over, a thousand times a day, trying to play out the what ifs and different possibilities of things I _could _have done. I had closure when I finally discovered what had really happened, but the pain doesn't die. I'm sure it was the same for Luke."

Mulder looked up at John, but John couldn't meet his eyes and looked away.

"Have you ever forgotten the day you found him?" Mulder asked Monica.

Monica shook her head. "No."

Mulder nodded. "Because these things are events you can't _ever _walk away from. They have us for the rest of our lives, and I think the best we can ever hope for will be to make peace with it all, to accept its presence, and come to terms with the hold it'll always have on us. There won't be an end until we die ourselves."

He stopped talking and lapsed back into silence. John held her hand, but she felt no comfort from his touch because his fingers had stopped moving.

"I don't accept that," Monica said finally, feeling her refusal soar inside her as she raised her eyes and met Mulder's square on. "I _refuse _to accept that."

He nodded in acceptance of her views, but he looked away and focused his attention back on Scully. He did not believe her. He was sure of himself. Monica looked up hopefully to John, but when he met her eyes she saw he was wearing the beginnings of tears again, and the look in his eyes as he studied her was one of pain. She knew he was in agreement with Mulder, and looking at her was as painful as watching his best friend throw herself into a pit of lava. Because he had been there before, like Mulder and Scully as well, and was aware of things that Monica hadn't even begun to consider herself.

"We'll get through it," Monica said bravely, trying to reassure herself now. "One way or another."

"'Course we will," John said, taking a deep breath and squeezing her hand hard.

But the look in his eyes was that of a father reassuring a naive child, one of wanting to protect her from the truth, and in his teary blue eyes Monica saw the truth more plainly than she could handle. She squeezed his hand to thank him, but pulled her hand away and got up from the bed to cross back to the chair. She picked up the magazine she had thrown aside and tried to focus her mind on it, flicking to a random page and desperately trying to distract herself.

"Why don't you read us something?" Mulder asked. He sounded both sympathetic, apologetic and exhausted.

"Sure," Monica said. She took a breath to recover from the previous conversation. "What would you like?"

"Whatever you've got."

Monica smiled as she read, "Quiz: Are you good in bed? Discover your bedroom IQ with our simple five minute quiz."

"That's the stuff," Mulder said cheerfully, turning to grin at her. "Fire away."

"Question one -"

"Just a sec'," John interrupted.

Monica looked up to see John was holding out an arm for her, wordlessly asking her to come back and sit on the bed with them. Smiling, she slipped off her shoes and climbed back into her previous position, but this time John pulled her closer, keeping his arm around her, and Monica lifted her bare feet to sit on the bed, legs in an arch. She let herself lean against his shoulder and held the magazine for them both to read.

"That's better," he said, giving her a squeeze. "Now read on."

"Question one," she started, glancing up at the suddenly twinkle-eyed Mulder. "Your partner comes home after a long day at work and ..."

XXX

An hour and a half later and the five minute quiz was still going. Mulder had turned around on the bed to face his friends, Scully's hand still clasped against his thigh, but he was feeling more cheerful than he ever had since their plane had first dived toward the rocks. Of course, part of this was due to his relief that Scully was going to be okay, and partly because he felt guilty for depressing Monica with truths she was not ready to hear, and had spent the following hour and a half cheering her up again, and himself and John along with her. When she started the sex IQ quiz, Mulder seized the opportunity to distract them all, and he resolutely debated her extensively on every point, insisting on analysing the benefits and drawbacks of each possible answer before finally selecting one. As a result, Monica was now happily sprawled against John, legs flat against the mattress next to Scully's. John had her leaning against his chest and he encircled her with his arms. Her hair splayed against his grey coat as she read Mulder the quiz and her eyes shone as she giggled at his responses. All in all, Mulder was proud of himself for cheering them both up. It was a thirty question quiz only supposed to take five minutes, but his use of it as a comedy aide turned it into nearly two hours of watching Monica smile and laugh, and watch John continually look stunned at Monica's extensive knowledge of all things sexual, and her willingness to discuss them openly with not a trace of embarrassment.

"Question twenty-seven," Monica said, turning over the page. "It's three in the morning -"

"Closer to five now," Mulder interrupted.

"Quit interruptin'," John said, giving Monica an encouraging squeeze around her skinny waist.

"It's _five _in the morning," Monica went on, grinning, "and your partner shakes you awake for sex. Do you a) give it to them, even though you're not in the mood; b) ..."

"Why's he wakin' her up?" John questioned, breathing into her neck. "What a jerk -"

"Who's interrupting now?" Mulder teased.

"Do you want me to read on or not?" Monica asked, eyes lighting up even though she tried to give them a faked look of irritation.

"Of course," Mulder said. "Please continue."

"Or b) demand they take care of themselves -"

She broke off mid-sentence as she spotted the same thing Mulder did: Scully shifting her head from side to side on her pillow. Scully's hand tensed in Mulder's, and he immediately spun around where he sat, abandoning the quiz.

"Shit," John said, letting go of Monica as she hoisted herself up from her position and climbed down from the opposite side of the bed to Mulder, hurrying up to Scully's side. John, too, came to her side.

"Scully, it's okay," Mulder said, leaning over her and putting a hand gently to her soft cheek. "You're safe."

"You're in the hospital, Dana," John said. "It's all okay."

"We're right here with you," Monica echoed, putting her hand on Scully's exposed shoulder. The gown had slipped down her arm.

But the nightmare continued on. Her head turned more and more frantically, and whimpering sounds were coming from her mouth. Mulder endured it only for another five seconds before he decided it wasn't worth it. There was nothing to be gained from keeping her asleep if it was only happening through psychological torture.

"Scully, wake up," he said loudly, stroking the side of her face.

Still she tossed and turned. The blankets began to get tangled and they pressed themselves against her small frame, trapping her still.

"Scully!" he yelled.

She jumped awake, eyes flying open with a loud gasp and her head coming several inches off the pillow, red hair dangling back. There was a second where she stayed there, eyes wide, and then she realised where she was and she began to breathe heavily, her head falling back to the pillow.

"Oh my God," she whimpered, her free hand coming out from under the blankets and covering her eyes.

Mulder tightened his grasp of her hand and rubbed it against his thigh, as his other hand continued to stroke her cheek and hair, pushing it back behind her ears.

"Shhh," he said. "It's all okay."

"Mulder," she gasped, her hand falling away and her eyes searching for his, looking lost and disoriented, still not connecting with the fact that they were right next to her.

"I'm right here," he reassured her. "Monica and John are here. We're all safe."

"Monica," she said, her head turning to find Monica sitting on her other side. She stretched out her free hand in Monica's direction and Monica took it in hers.

"Are you okay?" Monica asked kindly.

But Scully shook her head at the question, and she began to cry, tears slipping out as her face scrunched up in mental anguish.

"Scully, come here," Mulder said, tugging on her hand.

She sat up, let go of Monica's hand and fell into his waiting arms. She pressed her face into his shoulder and he held her firmly and rocked her in his arms. Her light blue hospital gown had come untied, or possibly never been properly tied, and was hanging open at the back, exposing her spine right down to her backside, but Mulder didn't care. He didn't want to let go of her for even a second to tie it, and he merely held her tight, kissing her hair and the edge of her forehead as she cried brokenly into his shoulder, struggling to calm herself.

"What was it?" Mulder whispered into her hair. "Skinner?"

"Holly," she replied, in barely a whisper, and inbetween sobs. "God, Mulder ..."

"I know," he said, rocking her from side to side and kissing her over and over. "I know."

"We should never have let her go," she whispered.

Her sobs began to ease. Mulder wished he could say something comforting, but there was simply so little to say. He wished Holly hadn't died, but she had, and what more was there? They could torture themselves forever wondering what might have happened if they had stayed awake, or realised her feelings earlier.

"It's okay, Dana," John said. He reached forward and put a hand to her bare shoulder. He had tears in his own eyes, as did Monica, and it was plain to Mulder that they were both in agony watching Scully cry and lose control. Monica, too, reached forward and put a hand low on her bare back, rubbing softly, but she, like him, had trouble finding anything appropriate to say.

At last, after several minutes of letting him simply hold her, and of him holding her tight and kissing every part of her head that was available to him, she pulled away. Her blue eyes were shaking, but he saw she was regaining control as she took deep breaths. Mulder let his hands fall to her waist.

"Here, Dana," Monica said, and produced the tissues that Christi had given her earlier in the waiting room.

"Thanks," Scully said. She took the tissues and wiped her eyes with them. She then blew her nose, softly and daintily.

"I'm sorry," she said, glancing up into Mulder's eyes with embarrassment.

"Don't be," he said, shaking his head.

"God, it just ... it was just so ..."

"Real, I know," Mulder said. He leaned forward and kissed her long and soft on the forehead. She closed her eyes and when he pulled away, leaned her forehead for a moment against his. She continued to breathe heavily, and for another minute he just held her and they all waited as she calmed, Monica and John still watching with teary eyes. Such was the extent of their pain, and so close were the four of them, that none of them cared that she was half naked and exposing her pale white buttocks to them all.

At last, she pulled away. She sniffed to compose herself, took an extra large deep breath, and then raised her eyes to John and Monica.

"You okay?" John asked.

"Yeah," she said, nodding and clenching the tissues in her hand. "Thanks. Thanks for waking me."

There was a pause. Scully reached for Monica's hand again and Monica, again, took it and held it in both of her own. Monica rubbed her wrist and squeezed her fingers, and this physical comfort relaxed Scully. Mulder momentarily let go of her and leaned down beside the bed. He hit the button to incline it so she could sit up, and then reached behind her and adjusted her pillow so she could lean against it.

"Thanks," she said.

She went to lean back, but Monica stopped her.

"Just a minute," she said. "Your gown's undone."

Scully held still as Monica quickly pulled the sides together and tied all the knots, and then Scully thanked her again and sank back against the boofy pillow.

"Are you warm enough in that thing?" John asked, nodding at the flimsy gown. "Want my coat?"

"No, I'm okay," Scully said. She closed her eyes for a moment, still steadying herself. They let her relax and it was a few seconds before she opened them again.

"How long have I been asleep?" Scully asked, looking up at Mulder.

"About two hours," Mulder replied.

"You've been all right?" she asked, targeting her question to all three of them this time.

"Yeah, we've been fine," Monica said, smiling at her.

"Just been discoverin' Mulder's sex IQ," John joked.

Scully raised a confused eyebrow. Monica laughed and reached down to the end of the bed, producing the magazine. She held up the open page.

"He's got a perfect score so far," Monica said, grinning to Mulder.

"Oh, I see," she said, nodding, but looking slightly amused.

"I'm heading for an IQ of 170," Mulder said. "Sex God."

"I'm happy for you, Mulder," Scully said. Her head twisted on the pillow, blue eyes looking into Monica's smiling brown eyes, and the two women shared a look. Mulder felt glad that Scully's sense of humour was emerging, because it was a clear indication that she was recovering.

"Don't be so down," Mulder teased. "I owe at least half to you. We're a team, we come as a package."

"Well I'm glad I come into it somewhere," she said, looking back to him and smiling widely.

"You come into it everywhere," Mulder said, leaning over her and sharing with her a quick peck on the lips.

"Mmm," Scully said, pulling away. "Do we have any water?"

"Yeah," John said, crossing to a trolley that held a beige jug and a plastic cup. "You thirsty?"

"Thanks," Scully replied. "I'm supposed to keep drinking."

He poured her a cup and passed it to her. As Scully began to down it, there was the sound of footsteps in the corridor outside and the handle turned. Mulder turned to see a nurse entering.

"Sorry to interrupt," she said. "I just need to check on you, Dana."

"We'll leave you alone a minute," Mulder said. He knew the nurse wanted to check the catheter was okay, that it wasn't irritating her or causing any other problems. He let go of Scully's hand, winked at her, and then he, Monica and John all got up from the bed. The nurse pulled the curtain around on its rollers and then disappeared behind it.

"I'll just pull these back a sec'," he could hear the nurse saying.

There was silence then. Mulder waited outside the curtains, near the door, with Monica and John. John was again rubbing Monica's back, for no reason this time other than that he just wanted to, and needed to. Mulder leaned against the back of one of the armchairs while they waited. Then he heard the rustle of the blankets being pulled back up again, the nurse saying "that's fine" and "I'll just change this" and a moment later the nurse emerged with the bag she had changed over.

"Are you all okay?" she asked, as she headed for the door. "Is there anything you need?"

"No, we're great," John said. "Thanks."

"Well if there is anything, you let us know," the nurse said, and she opened the door again and left, taking the bag and its contents for analysis.

Monica went for the curtain to pull it back, but Mulder stopped her.

"Could you maybe ... give me a minute?" he asked.

"Sure," Monica said, patting his arm and retreating to the door again with John.

"You want us to step outside a while?" John asked.

"No, you're okay," Mulder said, already stepping back around the closed curtain.

When Mulder stepped inside the curtain again Scully was happily lying down again, though the bed was still inclined so she was sitting up and could talk to them all. The blankets had been straightened and were lying in her lap, but she looked up at him curiously, wondering why he wanted her alone.

"Mulder, what's wrong?" she asked softly.

"Can I see?" he asked, pointing to her lower abdomen.

He felt guilty for the rash way he had behaved hours earlier, when he had forced her to strip in John's kitchen, and his insides squirmed nervously at the memory. So this time he asked permission, and was very ready to be refused. Ironically, though, she nodded with hardly giving it a thought. She took the blankets at her waist and raised them a few inches for him to pull back, which he did, pulling them down to her bare knees, and exposing the plastic tube that snaked out from between her legs.

She waited for him to do the rest, her hands sitting idly at her sides, and the corners of her mouth pointing up as though she was actually enjoying his slight awkwardness. With a nervous smile, Mulder sat down on the side of the mattress and reached slowly for the bottom of her hospital gown. With both hands he carefully raised it from her thighs, pulling it right up to the bottom of her breasts.

Her pale stomach stood out now. Her white skin was contrasted horribly with the beginnings of heavy bruising on her abdomen. It was so painful to see that Mulder focused on it, hardly noticing her red curls below, or the catheter that was placed there.

"Oh my God," he said, swallowing hard.

Her hand came up and grasped his upper arm.

"It's okay," she said softly, rubbing his arm.

Mulder swallowed again.

"You sure you aren't in any pain?" he asked, unable to believe that she couldn't be. The bruising was so extensive, and with the bruising to her bladder as well ...

"Only a little," she said calmly.

She looked completely relaxed, unlike him. His own insides were spinning.

"You want me to ask for another painkiller, or some ice?"

"No, I'm okay," she said easily, squeezing his arm again. "You're all the painkiller I need, Mulder."

She tugged on his arm and Mulder obeyed, leaning over her half-naked body and meeting her lips as she raised her head to kiss him. But the position was uncomfortable for him. There was nowhere for him to hold; he was so nervous he would brush against her bruising leaning on the horrible angle, and it made his arms sore holding himself up.

They pulled away a little. Scully's hand was cupping the side of his face, and she smiled at him.

"You keep smiling," he said, beginning to get puzzled.

"Mm-hmm," she nodded, smiling again. Her fingers stroked his cheek. Her fingertips were in his hair.

"Why?"

She leaned up slightly and kissed him again, longer this time, but softly and delicately.

Then she pulled back and her smile was wider than ever.

"You're just cute when you're nervous."

This time, Mulder smiled too.

He kissed her again.

* * *

_I know it's a bit of a nothing chapter, isn't it? No drama, no real cliffhanger, just a lot of seed sowing for later on. _


	12. Chapter 12

_Thanks again to all those who sent reviews. I can't tell you how much it helps (and motivates!)_

* * *

_**Chapter 37 - An Unexpected Problem**_

When Christi woke it took her several seconds to work out where she was. For one thing, she was lying on a strange couch with a mountain of heavy blankets cocooned around her body. For another, the air that tickled her exposed face was freezing cold. But most of all, there was an alluring smell of early morning coffee wafting amongst the biting air, and the sound of deliberately soft footsteps padding around in another room. It was this that made her snap to attention, as she was used to living alone. So she opened her eyes, turned her head, and then it all came back to her. She recalled with one sharp swoop in the pit of her stomach what had happened on the mountains, that she was staying in John's house in Washington, and that Charlie - the source of the noise coming from the kitchen - had driven her back during the night.

For a second she wondered whether it was still night-time. The lights in the living room were all off, and she was lying amongst the dark shadows. A strip of dull light edged its way around one of the blinds that led to the street, and she knew it must be early morning, just after sunrise. The damn media were probably already out there, she thought, ready to pounce as soon as their door opened.

She sighed loudly, for the moment too exhausted to even sit up. All her limbs and muscles felt like they were made of lead, and her eyelids didn't particularly want to stay open, but were fighting a battle to shut again and pull her back into an all day slumber. But then she thought of John and the others at the hospital, of Holly's funeral that they had said they wanted to attend, and she forced herself to sit up, pushing up with her heavy arms, and immediately feeling the attack of more icy air as the blankets fell into her lap.

Then there was the sound of the kitchen doors sliding open, bright light swept into the room, and Christi looked up wearily to see Charlie standing there, already dressed in fresh clothes, a mug of coffee cupped in his hands and a newspaper wedged under his arm.

"Morning," he said.

He looked tired, she thought. He was no less attractive than normal, but the twinkle in his eye had disappeared, or else not yet woken up, and he crossed to the couch opposite her and sat down with a heavy sigh that reflected the weight of everything they were carrying.

"What time is it?" she asked, burying her arms back under the blankets to stay warm.

"Twenty past seven," he replied.

Christi nodded. Damn, she thought, that was still so early. How much sleep had she had? Four hours at the most? No wonder her whole body was screaming.

Then she realised something else. She frowned at the pile of blankets covering her.

"Did you put another blanket over me?"

"You were beginning to sprout icicles," he said. He tried to joke, but it fell flat. They were both too tired to be joyful.

Christi hugged the blankets to herself as a huge yawn overcame her. "It's so damn cold up here. I don't know how they stand it."

"The same way they put up with being on the mountain, I guess. It probably feels like a tropical paradise after spending two weeks trapped up there in blizzards."

Again, Christi felt the heaviness of everything they were facing, the weight of seeing the pictures on television of the crashed plane and wondering exactly how it must have been to be stuck there for two weeks amongst dead bodies. From the way the four survivors were clinging to each other, she knew they must have done the same while they were up there, huddled tight together for comfort and warmth, for the basic preservation of their sanity.

"I suppose so," she said finally.

She swung her legs to the fluffy carpet, taking the warmth of the blankets with her, and sat facing him. It was then that she noticed something was off. Charlie looked too down, it surely couldn't be just tiredness. His eyes were downcast, he was holding his coffee but not drinking it, and he looked as if his thoughts were a million miles away, absorbed in something else entirely ...

She tried to joke, bring him out of himself. She smiled and said, "You know, I was only kidding when I said I'm a lesbian."

A hint of a grin passed over his lips as his blue eyes met hers. His eyes regained some of their sparkle.

"Yeah, I know," he said, his smile showing her that he hadn't forgotten their mid-night joking.

But then the smile morphed back into a straight face and the twinkle faded.

"So what's the problem?" she asked, studying his expression and fast becoming concerned.

He hesitated a second.

"Are you ready?"

She almost laughed. "No, but you might as well hit me with it anyway."

Her heart sank as Charlie pulled out the newspaper from under his arm. He rested his mug on the coffee table and then unfolded it. Christi waited, knowing she did not want to see the media's latest angle, but knew she had to. She was already cringing and getting the urge to move away even before he held it up so she could view the front page.

"Just wondering how they'll take this," he said.

Charlie's face was taut with anger as he showed her the headlines, and as Christi read them, she felt her heart sink even further than it already had.

She looked away. "Oh, fuck."

XXX

In a hotel in central DC, Anne Doggett walked barefoot from the bathroom, back to the bed where her husband was beginning to stir. She was already dressed and was ready to leave as soon as Jack had got ready and they could grab a quick breakfast in the restaurant. Margaret Scully had already phoned to tell her what had happened during the night, and though Anne was comforted that Dana was relatively okay, the news made her eager to get to the hospital as soon as she could, if for no more reason than to see that the four of them were okay by themselves. It was not that she thought of them as children, but that she knew they were traumatised, and she knew first-hand how bad the effects of trauma could be, and how fast things could swing around in unpleasant directions. She sat down on the edge of the bed to pull her shoes on when her cell phone rang with an annoying tune she had sworn a hundred times she was going to change.

She grabbed the phone off the bedside table and saw the screen identified it as Christi. She hurriedly answered it.

"Christi?" Anne asked, abandoning her shoes. "What's the matter?"

She froze at the sound of her daughter's voice, fast and angry as she launched into an explanation of the media's latest discovery.

Anne froze at the news. "Are you sure?"

Even as Christi confirmed it, Anne was on her feet and moving to the television. She grabbed the black remote control and switched on the set, immediately changing the channel to a news station. The scrolling headlines on the bottom of the screen confirmed her worst fears.

"Oh, no ..." she said, watching the words move across the screen.

Behind her she heard Jack getting out of bed.

"Have you heard from them?" she asked. She pictured her son and his three friends at the hospital, and hoped frantically that they had not heard, that none of the doctors or nurses had spilt the news.

"What about Margaret? Monica's parents?"

"I don't know," Christi answered. "Charlie's calling his mom now, but I don't know about Monica's parents. Do you want me to call them?"

"No, I'll call them," Anne said quickly. "You get to the hospital. We'll meet you there as soon as we can."

"Right," Christi said. Anne could hear her rushing around, getting ready. "Thanks, Mom."

The line went dead and Anne, grasping her cell phone, headed for her purse. She went straight to the two rows of cards - her driver's licence, bank card and credit card, a few membership cards - and in the last pocket found the ones she was looking for, the ones she had stuffed in there when they had all exchanged numbers on that cold night at Dulles airport. She pulled out Mr Reyes' business card, and hesitated with it in her hand. Hopefully she would get Julieta on the other end, because as much as Anne was suspicious of the woman, and as quirky as she found her, she much preferred her temperament to that of Monica's father. She did not think Mr Reyes would take the news with anything short of an earth-shaking loss of temper.

"What's wrong?" Jack asked, crossing to her side in his pyjamas.

Anne pointed a finger in the direction of the television.

"Oh, hell," Jack said, eyes widening. "Why can't they just leave 'em alone?"

"Money," Anne replied, shaking her head with disgust. "It's all money."

She punched in the phone number. She prayed again that Julieta would be the one to answer.

XXX

Christi hurried down the hospital corridor with Charlie beside her. They both tried to ignore the looks they were receiving. It was more than the idle curiosity they had been the target of earlier in the night. Now there was something more in the air. The plump woman working the florist at the hospital entrance had paused from arranging her fresh flowers to track them with her eyes all the way to the elevators; an old man they shared the elevator ride with ignored them altogether; and the group of giggling nurses behind the desk down the corridor from Dana's room all stopped talking as Christi and Charlie passed.

It was not the fact that they were being paid attention that made it odd in Christi's mind. It was the fact that up until now, she was used to people glancing curiously at her, and then glancing away again so as to not make her feel awkward. The strength of the florist's curiosity, the body language of the man in the elevator, and the obvious gossiping nurses were all ominous of the reaction of the wider community.

"Boy, do we have a problem," Charlie said, lowering his voice as they walked down the last corridor toward Dana's room.

"Well at least the media aren't here yet," Christi said.

"Personally that worries me," Charlie said. His face was tense. "As long as they're hanging around outside I know they're not up to anything. The fact that they aren't ..."

"They could be anywhere," Christi said. "They're probably at the FBI."

"I hope so," Charlie said. "As long as they're not camping outside the Reyes' motel room ..."

Christi cringed inside. "God, I hope not."

She stopped talking as they approached Dana's door, and then she took Charlie's elbow and stopped him. The corridor was deserted, but she leaned in and lowered her voice anyway.

"We're agreed, right?" she asked, taking a deep breath. "Until they get here, we say nothing, act normal, don't let on ..."

"We're cool," Charlie finished, squeezing her shoulder. "Smooth, smooth, smooth."

Christi nodded. "Right."

They turned toward the door. Christi reached for the handle, and just before she opened it, she felt Charlie lean in toward her ear.

"Smooth as a lesbian's love-making," he teased softly.

She heard the smile in his voice, and a part of her fluttered nervously, knowing that their joking from the night was far from over, that Charlie was not going to let her get away with teasing him and then falling asleep before he had a chance to retort.

But that was okay, she thought, smiling to herself. She was up to the challenge.

XXX

"You should eat somethin', get your strength back," John said, wheeling over the breakfast trolley to Dana's bedside.

She eyed it with cool indifference as he manoeuvred it over, swinging the table part over the bed and adjusting the height using the knob on the side of the stand. It was after eight now, and the nurse had come around on her breakfast delivery route, and deposited a selection of juice, cereal, toast and milk on the stand. John had seized it eagerly. He was keen for her to eat something, and mainly that was because the flimsy hospital gown revealed all too well how deathly skinny she had become. She was not yet as bad as Monica, who looked like she had just emerged from a World War II concentration camp, but John had a hunch that this could have been due to any baby fat that Scully had still been carrying prior to the time of the crash, but still her bones poked out in places they shouldn't, and he couldn't wait to get both her and Monica back to their normal shapes.

As for Monica, she was perfectly relaxed, resting in an armchair with her legs raised and feet supported on the side of the bed where she had her ankles crossed by Scully's knees. Her energy and laughter from the few hours before had faded as the hours wore on, and as the sun rose through the window to reveal another dull, overcast winter's day - weather as grey and depressing as her own feelings about the impending funeral- she had retreated to the chair with another magazine, and now sat reading in a tired silence.

Mulder, meanwhile, was sitting next to Scully on the bed, and was becoming more and more bright-eyed as time wore on. His relief that Scully was going to be okay, and whatever had happened behind the closed curtain earlier, seemed to have contributed greatly to his mood, and he was by all means the life of the party.

Now, as John brought the trolley to a halt, positioned over Scully's lap, Mulder immediately started examining the choices.

"Toast, cornflakes?" he asked, picking up each in turn and holding them up as if to tempt her.

"No, thank you," Scully said, raising a hand and pushing his wrist away. "I'm not particularly hungry."

Monica looked up from her magazine. "Dana, you need to eat."

"Just try somethin'," John added, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Your body's gotta have energy if it's gonna heal."

But Scully put her hand to the edge of the trolley and made a feeble effort to push it away. John, from the opposite side, put a hand to the edge to stop her and held it in place.

"I'm not eating without you," Scully said softly. She did not look at them while she said it, as was her habit whenever admitting something she found embarrassing. John had noticed she tended to find the strangest things visually interesting whenever the conversation came around to her own state - the pillows, the blankets, the paint on the wall - but she was nevertheless trying to be open with them, and John knew exactly how much courage that took for her to do, and how much it was against her own nature.

"Don't worry about us," Monica said gently. "We'll duck out later when your family get here."

_Which shouldn't be too long_, John thought to himself. But he liked the idea. The three of them could duck downstairs to the cafe there and pick themselves up something, and it would give Dana some time alone with her family.

"_Eat_," John said, pushing the trolley a further inch toward her.

She sighed, annoyed, and her blue eyes flashed at him.

Mulder promptly reached forward and snatched up the plastic packet of cornflakes. He peeled off the top and emptied them into the bowl.

"C'mon, you need to build your strength," he said, pushing the bowl toward her and going for the milk. "You're all bones and bruises."

She sighed again, but she had no energy for fighting and half-heartedly picked up the silver spoon.

"You sure know how to flatter a girl," Scully said dryly.

Mulder smiled at her as he poured the milk over the golden flakes. "I'll reward you with flattery later."

Scully began to eat then, and the four of them sat in silence for a while, listening only the clanging of the spoon as it collided with the edge of the bowl, and to Monica flicking through the remaining pages of her magazine, searching for another interesting article. From the other side of the door came a steady stream of footsteps and distant voices, but no one had bothered them for a while now. Before the nurse who brought around Scully's breakfast, the other nurses had only appeared every two hours or so to check on Dana, and they had so far not said or done anything to make them feel awkward with their fame. No questions had been asked, no strange body language, no indication that they were anything other than a normal patient with three visitors. John wondered how much Christi had had to do with that, and exactly what she had said to the doctor after they had left to visit Dana in her room. Whatever it was, John felt thoroughly grateful, and hoped that she was getting a good sleep back at his house.

"Look, uh ... as long as we're alone," Scully said, setting her spoon down and looking up at them all with slight nervousness, "I'd like to say thank you for staying with me. It's been a help. It's nice to just ... not have to be alone."

"I'd like to see you try to get rid of us," John said, thinking that they would have stayed even if she had put up a full fight.

"It's been a help to us too, staying together," Monica said, setting her magazine aside. "Just being around three other people who truly understand."

Unlike Scully, the admittance flowed freely off Monica's tongue, and Scully smiled and reached down to pat Monica's bare ankle. She gave one of them a brief squeeze.

Monica grinned in return, and she uncrossed her ankles and set them side by side.

Then, out of nowhere, a playful smile crossed Scully's face and she shot out a finger and jabbed Monica on the sole of her right foot. Monica yelped, jumped a mile, and laughing, her feet fell off the bed and she held the one Scully had jabbed in her hand.

Scully giggled. John was smiling himself. Monica had such an infectious laugh, and as she sat in her armchair, hunched over and laughing away, John got the urge to go over to her and pull her in his arms again so he could actually feel her body shaking as she laughed, as he had when Mulder had been reading the magazine earlier. He didn't, but only because he was on the opposite side of the bed and she wasn't within easy reach. But her eyes shone now, they had lost their tiredness, and both of the women had sparkles in their eyes.

"Evil," Mulder says playfully, and on Monica's behalf, he promptly jabbed Scully in the ribs through her hospital gown. She yelped, and jerked away. Giggling, she clamped a hand to the spot where he had poked her, but then suddenly she gasped, and she leaned over in pain as the shockwaves of laughter became too much for the bruises on her stomach.

"Dana!" Monica said, and before John had even seen her move, she was sitting beside Scully, an arm clamped around her shoulders, riding out the pain with her as Scully sat hunched over, both arms grasping her stomach.

John swung the table out of her way, standing up and completely removing it all the way over to the wall. Mulder also put an arm around Scully's back.

"Oh, Scully, I'm sorry ..."

"I'm okay," she said, holding herself, her eyes shut.

John sat down on the bed again and reached up to put a hand on her shoulder, wanting to comfort her somehow, but not having anything else he could do. It was a horrible feeling.

"Do you want a nurse?" he asked.

"No," she said, "I'm fine."

She raised her eyes to prove it to them and loosened her arms from her stomach. She took a deep breath. Both Monica and Mulder eased their grips on her torso, and John pulled his hand back.

"I'm sorry," Mulder said again, straightening her pillows as she leaned back. "I should've known."

"No, it's okay," she said, and reached down and took his hand in hers. She squeezed it tight. Mulder leaned forward and kissed her on the temple, his lips brushing against her hair.

"I guess I'm going to have to save my revenge for later," Monica said, grinning. Then she paused and said, "How long have you been waiting to do that?"

"About an hour," Scully said, settling into the pillows with a wide smile. Her red hair fanned out against the white cotton. "Since you put them there."

"You never told us you were ticklish," John said. He knew he was smiling. The thought was just too amusing, and he this newfound fact carefully away in his brain for future reference.

"I've never told you a lot of things," Monica said cryptically, but smiling in a cheeky, reminiscent way that John wonder exactly what those other things were.

But she looked away, and John was left with several hundred fun ideas shooting wildly through his imagination.

She turned back to Dana, serious again.

"Dana, there's something I'd like to talk to you about before your family arrive."

Scully's eyes narrowed with automatic concern. "What is it?"

"The doctor told us you were crying, when she was inserting the catheter."

Scully's eyes widened in alarm. "She told you that?"

"Christi asked how you were copin'," John said quickly.

He waited for a second, but Scully did not become angry, and instead lowered her eyes again, avoiding Monica's knowing gaze.

"I think I understand why," Monica went on, clasping Scully's free hand, "and I'm not going to ask you to relive it for us. But I do want you to promise me that next time you'll ask for one of us."

"Why didn't you?" Mulder asked gently. He searched for her eyes. "Scully?"

"I was embarrassed," came Scully's voice, soft and directed at the blankets in her lap.

"What's there to be embarrassed about?" John asked. "After all we've been through ..."

Scully glanced up at him briefly, but didn't answer.

"We've all had catheters before," Monica said. "And Mulder and I have both seen you naked. It wouldn't have bothered me in the slightest to sit with you. I just don't like the idea of you crying alone."

"That's when the trouble starts," Mulder agreed.

The statement hung in the air. John immediately thought of Holly and Follmer, and knew that Mulder was right. The problems always started when the person was left to attempt to deal with their burden alone. And Scully had a _lot _to carry. They all did.

There was a pause.

"Can you promise?" John asked.

She took a deep breath, and her lips shifted nervously. Then she raised her eyes to them and with a level voice, said, "I promise."

Just then there was a soft knock at the door and John automatically looked around.

"Who is it?" he called out.

"It's me," came Christi's voice.

John automatically glanced back at the others, wondering if they were as surprised as he was. He had not expected to see Christi before lunchtime, at the earliest. She had looked so exhausted during the night he simply hadn't expected that she would haul herself out of bed this early. Not when she knew that the Scullys and their own parents would be arriving later, and there was no strict need for her to hang around as well.

"Come in," Mulder called, covering John's stunned silence.

The door opened and Christi came through, Charlie behind her.

"Good morning!" Christi chimed, smiling around at them all.

Monica and Scully each said their good mornings to Christi and Charlie. Charlie shut the door behind them and the two approached the bed.

"I wasn't expectin' to see you before midday," John said, as she laid a hand on his shoulder. "What happened to gettin' some rest?"

"I guess I felt you were more important," Christi said.

"She slept," Charlie said, grinning. "Though it was a good thing I was there. I had to carry her in from the car, she was completely out."

He flexed his muscles in imitation of how he had supposedly carried her and Christi laughed.

"He was an _ass_," Christi corrected, jokingly, and looking to Dana. "He shook me awake like there was a damn earthquake and then threatened to leave me for the media if I didn't get up."

"Well what do you expect when you lure a man home in the middle of the night only to tell him you're a lesbian?"

"Lesbian?" Mulder jumped in, looking to Christi with surprise.

John saw the way Mulder was looking at her, saw the complete confusion on Scully and Monica's faces, and though he didn't understand what on earth was going on any more than they did, he at least knew that Christi was not a lesbian.

"Like _hell_," John added.

Not only was she not a lesbian, but she had had more than her fair share of boyfriends, and those were just the ones John knew about. Of course, most of them had been when she was in high school, and there had been queues of losers going through their house that both their parents had eyed with worry, scared one of them was actually going to stay. John thought the problem was that she was too good-looking for her own good. Blonde hair, smiling attitude, and tall with long, thin legs ... and she became a magnet for half the men in Georgia.

But Christi ignored him and instead turned to Charlie, a playful smile on her lips.

"What do _you _expect when you're so charming I fall asleep?"

Charlie's grin widened. "Touché."

Christi matched his grin. "Cheers."

Then she walked around the opposite side of the bed and sat down in the armchair Monica had vacated. But John couldn't help noticing the way they were still smiling at each other, and it made him uncomfortable. Of course, he knew it shouldn't. His sister had a knack for getting along with people, and the fact that she was best buddies with Charlie after only interacting with him a few hours was not rare for her. Nevertheless, as the seconds where Charlie stood grinning at her ticked on, and where she smiled back victoriously, as if they were both playing a game where only the two of them knew the rules, John became more and more uneasy.

"Are you done?" Scully asked.

Her eyes bored into her brother, one eyebrow raised, completely lost and confused.

He looked to her, as if only remembering now that she was there.

"For now," he said, nodding.

He stepped forward and leaned down to give his sister a brief kiss on the cheek, and it was then that John saw the highly amused look on Monica's face.

"You got along okay then?" Monica asked Christi, her lips turning up at the ends.

Christi smiled at her in return. "We survived."

John couldn't help himself.

"Since when have you been a lesbian?" he asked. "Whatever happened to that guy Mark somethin'?"

Mark was Christi's latest, and most lasting, boyfriend. John didn't know much about him, although they had met briefly at Christmas the year before. All he picked up was that the guy was an electrician, had seemed relatively nice, was four years older than Christi, and that the two of them were absolutely hooked on each other. John knew their mom was winding up for a wedding and grandchildren, and that it was only a matter of time ...

Her face fell and became suddenly hard. "We broke up."

She looked away from him.

Christi hastily looked up to Dana and to cover the moment, said, with false cheeriness, "So how are you feeling? Still sore?"

Scully replied, Monica continued to smile to herself, and John continued to wonder what Mark - her boyfriend for the past four years - had done to put such a pained expression on his sister's face.

XXX

The Scullys had arrived barely five minutes later, all of them looking much healthier and awake than they had in the middle of the night in the waiting room. Now, too, their faces were no longer tense, but bright and gay, and as they sailed through the door and swarmed around Dana there were many smiles, laughter, and jokes from Bill and Charlie about everything from the number of hospital visits Dana was clocking up to how it felt to be able to pee in bed, from their joking apologies that they _would _have brought flowers if only she didn't have enough to scent the noses of the whole Western world already, to their teasing remarks of, "You never take the easy way out on _anything_, do you?". Mulder gave up his spot beside Dana for Mrs Scully to sit down and put her arm around her daughter. Scully seemed relatively content, and smiling at her brothers' behaviour, leaned into her mother's black, woollen sweater, resting her head on her mother's shoulder, taking in the maternal comfort to ease the turbulence from her mind and memories. Mrs Scully's free hand clasped Mulder's, standing next to her, and gave it a motherly squeeze.

Christi gave up her chair so Bill and Tara could move nearer to the bed, and came and stood with John at Dana's feet. Monica, too, moved away to join them. Her eyes caught John's and they silently agreed to leave the family alone for a little while.

"We'll be downstairs," he said, stepping toward the door.

"Oh no, there's no need for you to go," Mrs Scully said, smiling up at them.

"It's okay," Monica said. "I have to call my parents, anyway, let them know where we are."

"We already did," Tara said, who had sat down in one of the armchairs. "Yours, too," she said to John.

"They'll be here any minute," Bill added. "They said they weren't far away."

At that statement, John had no choice but to stay, for his parents' first place of reference in finding him would surely be Dana's room, and if he nicked off downstairs with Monica it would be a lot harder for them to locate him. No, he would stick around until they arrived, and then they could make their departure for breakfast. The room was too small to hold that many people comfortably, anyway.

But there was something else in Bill's statement that didn't make sense, and as John stood there with Monica, his mind turned it all over, trying to find the hatch to open up the mystery. For the fact that the Scullys had called his and Monica's parents wasn't unusual in itself, but the fact that the call had been recent enough that his parents were able to say they weren't far away felt as if there had been some kind of urgency to it all. And then, too, his mind grasped Christi's arrival, several hours earlier than he would have expected. Had Charlie merely been eager to see his sister and be present in the action? But if he had, then why hadn't he come alone and left Christi to sleep? There were more cars left at John's house that Christi could have driven in to meet them later. On the whole, it was too much of a coincidence that all their family members would rush to the hospital within the space of the same five minutes. It was also too much of a coincidence that they would all burst through the door with the same overwhelming cheerfulness.

"Is somethin' the matter?" John asked, looking to Bill and Tara.

"No, nothing's the matter," Tara said lightly.

John looked sideways to Monica and was comforted that she, too, looked doubtful. Monica's FBI training and extensive experience had installed in her the same lie detector as John had. When he looked up again it was to see that Scully was eyeing her brother Bill.

"I think you're lying," Scully said, raising a threatening eyebrow the way John had seen her do a hundred different times with suspects.

"Is something in the news?" Mulder added. He nodded towards Tara's handbag, and following his eyes, John saw a folded up newspaper was just poking out of the top.

"There's always something in the news," Charlie said. "That's why it's news."

"May I read?" Mulder persisted.

"No," Mrs Scully said, voice sudden and hard - a mother giving a warning voice to a misbehaving child.

Everyone looked around at her. Mulder's hard, investigative face sank into worry and confusion.

"Mom?" Scully prompted.

There was an awkward silence. Mrs Scully looked away from her daughter's demanding eyes. She glanced to Bill and Charlie, but neither of them were any help.

"Just trust us," Christi said.

John turned toward her. Her face was tense. So there _was _something, John thought. And Christi knew, but didn't want to say.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," Monica said.

The door opened and John's parents came in. Immediately their appearance confirmed to him that something was horribly wrong. They were both dressed as neat and tidily as usual, but when his mother, Anne, led the way inside, and his father, Jack, closed the door solemnly behind them, Anne did not partake in any of the usual polite routines John would have expected of her normally. She did not smile, head to the bed and politely enquire after Dana's health. She did not verbally greet everyone in the room or ask John, or anyone else, how they were. Instead, her tense blue eyes went straight to Mrs Scully's, her mouth forming a silent question, and Mrs Scully shook her head in response. Anne then nodded, and only then did she cross the few steps to greet John. She took him briefly in her arms and kissed him on the cheek, but when John touched her he felt the tension in her body, and pulled away quickly.

"Are you all right?" she asked him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah," he said. "Although I'm kinda gettin' the feelin' I shouldn't be."

She ignored this statement, but her tense hand patting his shoulder, and her nod to quieten him was all the confirmation he needed.

The room fell silent.

"Are your parents not here yet?" Jack asked Monica.

Monica looked confused at the bizarre question and the obvious concern on the man's face.

"No, not yet ..."

"I think it might be easier if you just spit it out," Mulder said.

Anne sighed. She let go of John's shoulder. She reached down toward Jack's hand and took from him a newspaper that was clenched in his fist.

Then she turned to Monica, and put her hand on Monica's shoulder.

"What?" Monica asked, eyes widening further. "What's wrong?"

Anne slipped her arm around Monica's shoulder and steered her toward the bathroom.

"I need a word in private."

XXX

John's heart felt as though someone had reached into his chest and twisted it around several times until all his blood vessels were curled tight like springs. He managed to keep himself together only long enough until his mother had ushered Monica into the bathroom and then shut the door after them. Then he rounded on his father.

"What did they say?" John asked angrily. His heart was pounding and he struggled to keep his hands at his sides and his voice calm.

"You calm down first," his father said, holding up a hand.

John rounded on Christi.

"JUST TELL ME WHAT THEY SAID!"

"John!" came Scully's shout.

He realised too late that he had angrily seized Christi's shoulder, not until her eyes hardened so much he was nearly knocked down by the force of them. Then he realised he was gripping her so hard his fingers were digging in to her skin even through her thick black coat.

He pulled his hand away a few inches, and it hovered in the air above her shoulder.

"I -" he said, starting toward an apology.

She sighed and reached up, catching his hand mid-air and holding it down between them.

"Look, just calm down, okay?" she said firmly. "Because we've already had to endure enough anger from her parents this morning and we're _damned _if we're gonna take it from you as well."

Instantly John hated himself. For a few seconds she looked straight at him, hard blue eyes burrowing into his, and his heart squirmed with discomfort and horror at how he had just acted. He looked away from her eyes, composing himself, and her hand, which had been tense enough to cut off his circulation, relaxed in his.

"What did they say?" he tried again, with perfect calmness. "Was it about the funeral, her collapse?"

"Yes," Christi said, nodding. "At least partly."

"Partly?" Mulder asked.

John looked up. He had momentarily forgotten that there were so many other people in the room. But the scene had shifted since he had last cast eyes in their direction. Mrs Scully was standing next to Mulder, her hand clenched in restraint around his elbow. Scully had shifted nearly a foot forward in her bed and Bill's hand was on her shoulder, holding her back, as though she had been about to leap up in Christi's defence.

The sight made his stomach squirm a little further.

"It may be easier if you read it for yourselves," Tara said. She pulled the newspaper from her handbag and passed it to Scully. Tara's face was heavy with being the bringer of news she didn't want to deliver. Scully took the newspaper with some nervousness now, but the hesitation was short. Her need to know the truth and to protect Monica still far outweighed her fear.

She unfolded the paper and her eyes immediately widened. Her mouth fell open a fraction.

"What's it say?" Mulder asked.

"It says ..." Scully began, her eyes scanning the paragraphs in the first few columns, "that they found out."

"Found out what?" John asked.

"About her relationship with Follmer," Scully said, still scanning the article.

"_What_?" Mulder said quickly.

"How?" John responded with disbelief.

"A woman from her old apartment building in New York," Scully said, voice still shocked. "Sonya Newman, 51 years of age ... looks like she was Monica's neighbour ... claims Monica and Follmer had a two year affair ending in 1997, that she saw and heard them coming up the corridor late at night, and occasionally at lunchtime, kissing and ..."

Scully drifted off. Her eyes were stuck on one sentence of the newspaper. John didn't press her to finish the sentence. He knew what it must say.

"Says she heard it all through her bedroom wall," Scully went on. "And that ... that it was undoubtedly the reason she collapsed at the church yesterday. She ..."

Again, Scully drifted off. Whatever she was reading was too painful for her tongue to repeat and she sat there with her mouth open and her grip on the newspaper becoming increasingly tight with fury.

There was a moment's silence as the three of them digested the information. John could hear the murmur of his mother talking to Monica in the bathroom, but her voice was low enough that he could not make out the exact words.

"Rumour has it she sold the story for $250,000," Charlie said. "Fast, easy money."

"It's all over the news," Bill said. "Every single station, radio, TV, the Internet ... they've cut her reputation to shreds. They're making her out to be the Bureau slut."

The words hurt John, and he felt his anger resurface. In an effort to calm the fury coarsing through his veins, he turned away for a second and tried to take a deep breath. He felt his father's hand on his back.

When he eventually turned back, it was to see that both Mulder and Scully were watching him. Scully's eyes were wet with sympathy for Monica. Mulder, seeing John had himself under control again, looked around to their relatives.

"You knew?" Mulder said in wonder.

"Yeah, we knew," Tara said.

"How?"

"Christi," Tara said.

All eyes turned toward Christi. A split second after Scully's eyes turned accusingly to John. Her mouth opened ...

"No, I didn't -" John started.

"I guessed," Christi cut in. She put her hand on his arm to calm him.

Scully and Mulder still looked surprised, and John felt it, too. They had thought they had covered their tracks - or rather Monica's tracks - fairly well. John was reminded again how smart his sister really was.

"I'm sorry," Christi said, "but it was kind of obvious."

Scully nodded to ease Christi's nerves.

"And her parents?" Mulder asked.

"We didn't tell them," Christi said. "This morning was the first they knew of it."

John felt a surge of gratitude. There was a pause.

"You said they're angry?" Scully asked.

Christi hesitated. Then she tilted her head to the side a little and said, "Livid. According to Mom, anyway. She was the one who called them, and she says they're furious. She said there was a whole lotta Spanish she didn't understand, but she got the gist of it. They said something about a lawsuit for defamation. They ..." Christi hesitated again, "... don't know it's true."

"Dana, I'm sorry," Mrs Scully said, putting a hand on her shoulder and sitting down again on the edge of the bed. "We wouldn't have told you if we thought there was any way around it."

"We just thought it better to tell you now before they got here," Jack said. "Give you a warning."

"No, you uh ..." Scully took a deep breath. "You did the right thing."

"Thanks," John said, looking to his father and sister. It was a half-hearted thank you, but it was hard to muster the energy to make it enthusiastic when the news was so painful.

"Is there any word from Follmer's family?" Mulder asked. "Or the FBI?"

"Not yet," Bill said. "But no doubt it'll come soon enough. That's probably where the media are right now."

John inwardly cringed again. He wasn't ready to even think about the damage this would do to Follmer's family, or what the FBI might make of it all. Unable to take it any longer, John stepped forward and sat on the end of the Dana's bed. He sighed and rubbed his forehead with his hand.

He felt Christi's hand settle gently on his shoulder.

"John, we'll stand by her as best we can," she assured him. "But her parents _are _angry. I get the feeling she could probably take the rest, but _their _reaction ..."

She trailed off.

"We'll do all we can," Mrs Scully echoed, giving Dana a squeeze around her shoulders.

"Thanks, Mom," Scully said.

There was the sound of one of them kissing the other, but John did not look, because at that moment he heard the bathroom door open, and he raised his head to see Monica emerge, his mother behind her.

XXX

She looked strained. Her arms were folded across her chest, and her brown eyes darted between all the people in the room, nervous of their reactions, scared of what they now thought of her. But she was not crying, at least, and John took comfort from this fact. His mother put her arm back around her once they had exited the bathroom, and Monica then took a deep breath to steady her nerves and flicked her hair back over her shoulder.

"Are you okay?" John asked. He wanted to step over to her and take her in his arms, but he knew this was not the time. She was in shock, still trying to digest it all, and was not ready to seek comfort.

"Yeah," Monica said. "I'm okay." She paused. "I just ..."

She shook her head vaguely, though John knew what she meant: just could not believe it. Just did absolutely not need this right now. She thought she had finished with Follmer yesterday, had finally moved past it all and left it all wrapped up neatly and left behind, and now someone had torn it all open again, and it was the _last _thing she wanted.

"I know," Scully said softly. "I can't believe it, either."

Monica looked to Scully, but then her eyes found the floor again. She stared at one particular spot for a moment, and it was a second or two before she found the strength to raise her eyes again.

"I just wish it was all over," she said. "It was all so long ago, and I just don't -"

She broke off abruptly.

"Don't want any part of it," Mulder finished quietly.

She nodded. John could tell she hated herself for admitting it, but the plain truth was she did not care anymore, and was quite happy to leave it all buried in history.

There was another awkward pause.

"It's okay, you know," Tara said, trying to impress upon Monica that no one present thought any less of her.

Monica, still in shock, was only able to nod her thanks to Tara. Her mouth had trouble finding words.

She turned to Anne. "You said they're on their way?"

Anne checked her watch. "They said they'd be here five minutes ago."

Monica took another deep breath.

"I think I'm going to go for a walk," she said. "I need some fresh air."

She took a step forward. John's feet automatically found themselves and he stood up and put his arm around her as she drew level.

"I'm comin' with you," he said.

"Thanks," she replied.

But they never did go for the walk, because as they headed for the door, it opened by itself to reveal Monica's parents standing on the other side.

XXX

"Monica," Julieta said, stopping still where she was next to her husband.

Monica stopped, too. Her parents' presence wasn't entirely unexpected, but it was the last thing she wanted. She had hoped they wouldn't arrive for another thirty seconds or so - time enough for her to escape to a quiet corner somewhere with John and try to sort her pulsating emotions into some kind of order. But no, they were definitely standing there, and she could tell they were angry. It was not very well hidden, for one thing. Her mother had tears in her eyes - tears borne from a thousand emotions, of which hurt and confusion were two. But her father ... he was standing up straight, and his face was devoid of all emotion except anger. Monica felt suddenly grateful for the presence of John's arm resting around her shoulders, and for the fact that he did not remove it even when she saw her father glare at him as he had not glared at him in the past few days. That alone signalled to Monica what he now thought of her, some kind of sex-crazed tramp who went from one man to the next.

Monica felt her own face harden and her own emotions line up in an army of her own defensive stubborness. She felt John's arm tighten across her shoulders, in his own stubborn response to the daggers her father was shooting at him.

For several seconds, they merely stared at each other. Then, eventually, Monica's mother moved forward.

"Monica," she said. She cupped Monica's face in her hands and pressed her soft lips to Monica's cheek. Then she pulled away and let her hand trail its way down the side of her face, fingers in the front strands of her hair.

Part of Monica relaxed. That was until she heard her mother's next words.

"Don't worry about a thing," her mother said. "They _cannot _do this to you. It's clear-cut defamation."

For a second, Monica turned the sentence over in her mind, debating how to respond. Should she let it go? But then, no, she decided. The time for lies had passed, and now she would tell the truth, and if they were any kind of parents, they would love her anyway, as Anne had said.

"You'd never get them on defamation," Monica said calmly.

She felt John's arm tense around her. He knew what was coming.

"Why's that?" her father asked, still in the doorway.

Monica hesitated. It took all her courage to say her next words, and she paused to take a deep breath, find enough air to shoot them out with.

"Because it's true," she said finally.

Her father did not move, his expression did not change from his hard anger. But her mother froze in absolute disbelief. She stepped back, as if to take in Monica's full appearance and make sure there were not any hospital IV drips pinned into her anywhere feeding her some crazy drugs, and when she did not find any her mouth fell open a fraction, and then closed again several times as words struggled to make the trip from her brain to her vocal cords.

"But ... _Monica_," her mother finally said, and hastily switched to Spanish, blocking out the rest of the room and hospital from understanding their words. "Are you saying you _did _those things?"

She looked horrified, disgusted that her daughter who she had always thought she raised as a lady had actually had an office affair with her superior based on nothing more than animal sex.

Monica felt her confidence falter, and her heart quivered at the look on her mother's face, as though it was going to shatter with any more vibrations.

"Yes," Monica said, responding with Spanish as well. "I am."

There was a long pause now. Her mother was shocked into horrified silence, but her father found his limbs now, and he moved forward into the room and shut the door behind them. Monica knew why: because even though they were talking in Spanish, he did not want to chance that someone understood, and would report her admittance to the newspapers and subsequently shame the family and shatter his business empire.

"Just the once?" he demanded.

Monica felt her anger return in full flight. Goddamn it, she was not eight years old anymore, and he had no claim of knowledge on anything she did in her love life. She felt her anger surge in her veins and it was all she could do to keep still. John gripped her tighter. Monica knew he didn't understand a word they were saying, but he understood their tones and body language.

"No," Monica said. "More than once."

"How often?" he demanded loudly. "Two, three times? _Weekly_?"

Monica watched his body language carefully, and was getting the urge to step back and put some more distance between them, but she was also determined to not let him win, and so stood her ground. She was adult, she was FBI, and she was not going to be pushed around any longer.

He searched her silent face. "_Monthly_?"

"Every day for two years!" Monica snapped loudly.

She took a guilty pleasure in his reaction then, but she was so angry she could no longer control herself and was ready to admit every dirty thing she had done if it hurt him enough. But she did not dare look at her mother, because although she didn't understand, Monica loved her and could not stand to see the disappointed look on her face. But still, in the heat of the moment, it did not kill her anger.

"And at least three times, most days," Monica added, when her father was momentarily silenced through shock. "We did it in my apartment, we did it in his apartment, in motel rooms, bathrooms, in the car, and even in his office."

"_Why.._?" her mother asked in a small voice.

But her father hadn't finished, and he talked over the top of her.

"Did he start it?"

Monica knew this would be the final straw, that if she answered Brad had started it, her father would feel he would at least be able to excuse her behaviour through any number of labels he could apply to Follmer. On the other hand, if she said she started it, he would lower his opinion of her forever. Monica could not blame Brad, and not only because it would be a lie, but because unlike the media, she could not bring herself to criticise a man who was not around to defend himself.

"It was mutual," Monica said, raising her head and her eyes to her father's, and meeting them square on. "And no, I've never regretted it."

Her last statement was a slight exaggeration, for there had been times when she had questioned her actions, and those actions were not something she could imagine herself repeating. She told herself she had matured since then, had learned a lot, and the next time she had a relationship it was going to be very different, and a hell of a lot more meaningful. But she said it as a tribute to Follmer, as a gift she could give him in his death to hold her head up to the world and say that she bore no regrets.

"You'll lose your job," her mother protested weakly.

Monica looked to her mother with sadness. She hated doing this to her, but she could hide no longer. She had no more energy to hide.

"Maybe I'm out anyway," she said calmly. "Maybe we _all _are, after this."

"But how could you _behave _like that?" her father suddenly demanded. "Like a free office _slut_?"

Monica stiffened at his words. She felt her anger surface yet again. Any number of horrible retorts bubbled away in her throat, itching to jump to her tongue, but she held them down, determined to be more than he was. But she felt John tightened his arm around her and stroke her far shoulder, and she then realised that she had gripped a whole fistful of his coat in her anger. Christi came out of nowhere, flanking her on Monica's other side and gently taking her elbow in hers, as if she understood ... yet Monica knew Christi didn't speak Spanish, but was shrewd enough to guess on body language alone. She was smart, Monica knew. Anne had said it was Christi who had figured her out.

The words bubbled away in Monica's throat and it was nearly a minute before she could calm herself down enough to select a response. Her chest heaved with uncontrolled breathing.

Finally, she swallowed her anger, but only enough to let go slightly of John's coat that she was strangling.

"We're going for breakfast," Monica said, finally switching back to English to let John in. "We'd like to be alone a while. I'll come find you later."

She let Christi's hand fall from her elbow and then walked with John through the gap between her parents. She heard her mother pleadingly call her name, but Monica did not look back.

XXX

They all waited in silence for several long seconds. Mulder did this in particular because he wanted John to get Monica a decent distance down the corridor, and well out of earshot, before he let loose. For Monica's parents, they did it because her father was still rooted to the spot in shock, and her mother was too upset to move. Mulder knew that had Monica not specifically said she wanted to be alone, her mother would probably have chased her up the corridor, but was trying to respect her wishes and let her go in hope that they would all calm down by the time she came back.

After these seconds had passed, Mulder tried to formulate his thoughts into possible sentences. He had never felt like he was on such a thin tight-rope as he was now. All he really wanted to do was approach Monica's father and sink his fist into him, but he also knew that Monica needed her parents, and that it would tip the balance in a fatal direction if they left her. So, therefore, no matter what he felt towards the pair of them, he had to keep the peace if he was ever going to see Monica heal from this tragedy, and would have to hold out the hand of friendship and understanding rather than one of a clenched fist.

Or else - that _had _been the plan. He had not factored in Christi's reaction.

He had not understood what had been exchanged in Spanish. He understood a few words in places, but it was not enough to form a coherent translation to English. But he knew Christi understood every word, and it was her steady descent into fury during their conversation that had confirmed Mulder's worst suspicions. He had expected Christi to jump in, but for some reason, she had held back and let the exchange take place - whatever that had been.

When the sound of Monica and John's footsteps had disappeared, it was Mrs Scully who moved first. She let go of his wrist and walked straight over to Julieta Reyes and put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. She was hesitant at initiating the touch - not knowing how Julieta would react - but Julieta seemed calmed by it, and she sniffed back her tears and searched her pockets for a tissue as Mrs Scully comforted her.

But Mr Reyes, on the other hand, did not benefit from anyone's comfort. Like Mulder, no one in the room spoke Spanish except for Christi, and though they had this against them they understood most of what must have happened through the body language of the Reyeses and Christi alone.

Mulder had been searching for something he could use as a peace treaty when it happened - when Christi, standing there breathing heavily and looking straight into Mr Reyes' eyes - took a single step forward and with one loud CRACK, slapped him hard across the face.

"Christi!" Jack shouted, and stepped forward and seized his daughter's shoulders and hauled her a step back. Anne hurried forward too, but the hand she put on her daughter's arm was a half-hearted restraint to say the least. Between her daughter's judgement and that of Mr Reyes, there was no question as to who she trusted more.

Everyone in the room watched.

Christi's arms were now restrained by her father, but he held no restraint on her tongue.

"You say that again," Christi said viciously, "or _anything _else to hurt her, and next time I won't be so lenient. I'll take my fist and plant it _right _through to the back of your skull."

Mulder sensed Scully freeze beside him, even though he was standing beside the bed and not even touching her. He knew that had she not been attached to a catheter she would have launched herself out from under the covers long ago. But Mulder was not in the same position, and he took a step forward without thinking, staring at Christi as the alarm bells clanged deafeningly in his head.

"What did he say?" he asked urgently.

"He called her a slut," Christi answered swiftly, still looking at Mr Reyes with complete hatred.

Anne's hand dropped from her daughter's arm. Jack's hands similarly slipped off her shoulders and instead he now flanked his daughter, joining her cause.

"Is that true?" Jack demanded.

Mr Reyes did not answer. He was too busy mirroring Christi's hatred and sizing her up.

"Answer him!" Mulder yelled, joining the circle at the door.

"It's true," Julieta said weakly.

Before he had even thought it through, Mulder had grabbed Mr Reyes' shirt front, twisted his suit in his hands and pinned him with a THUD against the closed door.

"What else?!" Mulder shouted. "Was there anything else?"

"Let him go, Mulder," Scully said softly, her voice carrying a worrying warning.

Mulder glanced at her over his shoulder. She looked nervous, and Mulder was suddenly reminded of why they could not attack Mr Reyes - because like it or not, Monica needed her parents, and if they scared them off, she might never recover ... and Monica had to come first.

Mulder let him go with a final push back against the door.

Mr Reyes breathed heavily for a few seconds, but when he recovered and dropped his arms back to his sides, straightened his suit and tie, his eyes again found Christi's.

"You speak Spanish," he said flatly. It was clear it was not a pleasant discovery for him.

"Yes, I speak Spanish," Christi said, words dripping with acid. "Fluently."

Another few seconds passed. Mulder let Christi lead. Not knowing what had been said, he had to trust her.

"You knew about this?" Mr Reyes asked. "All of you?"

"Yeah, we knew," Christi said. "But I think the question is more why the _hell _didn't you?"

Mr and Mrs Reyes both stared.

"You don't find it odd that we - who have really only known her three days - saw it, when you've known her all her life and missed it completely?"

Passing over this observation completely, Mrs Reyes asked, "So why didn't you just _tell _us?"

"Because she asked us not to," Mulder replied.

"Why?"

Scully spoke up. "I'd say because she knew you'd react something like this."

"Mr Reyes, do you really know your daughter?" Anne asked. "Do you love her?"

He looked to Anne as if this was an absurd question.

"Of course I love her!" he protested angrily. "Why else do you think we're here?"

"Just a stab in the dark," Mulder said sarcastically, "but I'll go with money. Or fame. You think you'll be able to wipe the slate clean and ship her back to Mexico so you can get yourself some grandchildren. An heir or two?"

"That's absurd," Julieta said coldly. She stepped out from under Mrs Scully's arm.

"Is it?" Mulder challenged.

"If you really love her, then prove it to us," Anne said calmly. "That's all we're asking. Because you're still her father and she needs your support desperately. More than she knows."

* * *

_I'm still seed sowing, here, but I think it's at least a little more action-packed than the last chapter I posted. I actually wrote most of it today because I'm off work with a cold, and though I can't breathe and are coughing everywhere I can at least still write fanfic. I finished this with a thought that maybe I should get sick more often!_


	13. Chapter 13

_Thanks to those kind people who left feedback. You've successfully inspired me so much that I completed this in a week instead of two. Hopefully that doesn't mean it's sub-standard. _

* * *

The cafe was long and thin, squashed into the side of the building as though it had been converted from a corridor long after the original structure was built. But as it wasn't even nine o'clock, it was pleasantly deserted and allowed Monica and John the privacy they craved. They were sat in a far corner, in a booth against the cold windows, while up the other end of the cafe a waitress was busy at a whirring cappuccino machine, fixing John's coffee. Monica sat opposite him, turning a white plastic fork around in her fingers, poised to plunge it down into the cubes of fruit salad resting innocently below in a plastic container, but she held back because she did still not feel like eating. It was strange that downing food had become such a chore, but somehow it had. John, though, had no such qualms. In the brief time it took for the plump waitress to make him a coffee, he had already scoffed off a whole ham and cheese croissant. 

"Here we go," the fat waitress said kindly, putting down John's coffee in front of him. "Hot and strong, should be enough to keep you on your feet for another twelve hours."

"Thanks," John said. He raised his eyes to Monica. "You sure you don't want somethin' to drink?"

"I can make anything you like," the waitress put in. "You just name it. No charge."

Monica shook her head without even raising her head to look at the woman. "No, thanks."

"I think it's a disgrace, you know," she said, "what they've done to you. But don't let them beat you. You stand up for yourself and shove it right back down their throats."

Monica could barely stand to sit there and listen to the sentence, and was impressed with herself when she managed to mutter a thank you and the waitress retreated to go serve a doctor standing at the counter in a white coat, ready for his routine morning fix.

She felt John eyeing her then, his eyes following the prongs of the fork as she turned it around in her fingers.

"Here," he said. "Let me give you a hand."

He reached forward and took the fork from her fingers, and then plunged it down and impaled a cube of watermelon on the end. Then he uprighted it and handed it back to her like a lollipop.

"I think I could have done that myself," Monica said, amused.

He shrugged. "It could've died of old age waitin'."

There was a pause then. Monica bit off the watermelon, but mainly only so she could have an excuse to not say anything, for there was nothing she could think to say. The memory of her fathers' words were still ringing around her head with a clanging echo like church bells, and what made it worse was that there was no way out of this one. She had decided to come clean with them, and while logic told her it was the best thing to do her heart and emotions felt otherwise. Already she wondered whether she had been foolish to tell them, whether it would have really done any harm to leave them in the dark for another thirty-three years. Did they really need to know about her sex life? Most people went through their whole lives without confessing their sex romps to their families. And had it not appeared in the newspapers, she certainly never would have considered it. But now fame had made itself at home on her shoulders she knew her life was considered public property. But she was so, _so _fed up with it.

"You did the right thing, you know," John said. "If they love you they should take you as you are. It shouldn't make a damn bit of difference."

"I suppose you've told your parents about every woman you've ever slept with?" Monica countered.

"There's not that many," John said honestly. "I was 22 when I married Barb. I was in the marines before that, and I gotta tell you there weren't too many opportunities."

"You can't tell me you've only ever slept with one woman," Monica said. Despite how she felt, she couldn't help smiling at the improbability of the thought. She knew him better than that. Much better.

"Well maybe a few either side," he said, smiling slightly.

Monica smiled and stabbed a piece of pear on the end of the fork.

"The point is," he went on, "that they're family. You mighta caught them off guard, but they'll come 'round."

"I hope so," Monica said dully.

"Know so," John said. "They love you more than the air they breathe."

All Monica could do was to stab at a piece of apple. She wanted to believe it, and she could see why John and the others thought it, but the fact remained she had not seen them for three years prior to her emerging from the mountain. They had nagged for her to come home for a visit, but she had had a series of emergencies and had cancelled three times running. They had been angry and hurt, and Monica had invited them to DC to spend a weekend together, but they had declined on the grounds that her father could not just leave the business. But she knew he could if he saw reason to, like now. She knew the real reason was they wanted her in Mexico. Even now, they wanted her back in Mexico ... home and close again, away from this craziness and everyone involved in it ... taking part in parades to honour her as a national hero, smiling away on talk shows, sending the family fortune through another barrier ...

"You okay?"

Monica swallowed. "Just thinking."

He opened his mouth to question her, but stopped and stared at a spot over her shoulder.

"Damn," he said suddenly.

"What?" Monica asked.

He stood up. "Jana's here."

XXX

_**Chapter 38 - Christi and Monica**_

"You stay here," he said, sliding out of the booth.

Monica chanced a glance over her shoulder and sure enough, saw AD Jana Cassidy standing outside the cafe in the main entrance to the hospital. Mulder was already with her, had emerged out of nowhere and headed her off. Christi was there too, but as John made his way over she met him halfway and the two exchanged a few hushed sentences before Christi squeezed his wrist and then continued walking in opposite directions - John over to join Jana and Mulder, and Christi over to where Monica sat.

"May I join you?" Christi asked, standing beside Monica's seat and peering down at her with complete sympathy.

"Sure," Monica replied.

Christi slid into the booth opposite Monica. She had only half sat down when she stopped and spotted John's cup of coffee sitting there.

"God that smells nice," she said, and her muscles sank as she drew in the scent. A second later she pushed it up the table to keep it out of her own reach.

Monica had her tongue wrapped around another piece of watermelon and couldn't reply.

"I want you to know you don't have to worry," Christi said, talking softly so they would not be overhead by the waitress. "Your mom's gonna be okay, and your father just needs a chance to calm down."

"Are they still upstairs?"

"Somewhere," Christi said. "They went for a walk with my parents and Dana's mom. It's some kind of parent conference, probably 'Recognising Your Kids' Sex Lives 101'. God knows what they're talking about."

Christi looked as though she didn't know whether to roll her eyes or cringe, and Monica knew, and agreed, that there was undoubtedly going to be some exchanging of stories. Herself, Christi, John, Dana, Bill and Charlie were all at risk of being featured.

One thing though, bothered her.

"Is Dana alone?" Monica asked.

"No, she's fine," Christi said, and reached across the table and patted Monica's hand a little. "She's bonding with her brothers, and Tara. When I left they were trying to persuade her to get some sleep."

"They won't succeed," Monica said. She could picture Dana upstairs in her hospital bed, and thought it was success enough if they persuaded her to stay there. To hope for her to roll back over and fall asleep was like praying for time to turn back and eliminate all that had happened to them.

"I don't think so, either," Christi said. "But at least the arguing will keep her occupied. Neither Bill nor Dana strike me as the type to give in easily."

Monica smiled. That was certainly true.

"Oh, and I uh -" Christi dug around in her handbag which was sitting beside her on the padded seat. "I brought you these from the house."

She pulled out the two packets of Monica's medication and slid them across the table.

"I think you should keep them with you."

"Thanks," Monica said. She had forgotten all about them.

There was a pause. Christi's eyes travelled again to John's cup of coffee and then she smiled at Monica and pushed herself out of seat.

"I'm gonna have to get myself one of those before I explode from withdrawal."

She left Monica alone for a few seconds while she walked to the counter and placed her request with the waitress, and Monica let her gaze drift out the window. She did not dare look over her shoulder to see what was taking place between John, Mulder and AD Cassidy. She did not want to know, and was glad that John and Mulder had stepped in to take care of it for her. She was not in the mood to be taken in for questioning about whether the accusations were true, and to have to sit there and either lie or watch her whole career and personal reputation shatter to pieces. She knew the Bureau was in an ugly position, and she wondered whether they would make a fight of it or let the comments slide. Part of her, somewhere deep down, squirmed with the answer all ready, but she tried to quash the thought and instead focused out the window at the ever-looming grey clouds, stretching out over the hospital car park and the surrounding buildings. She had so much to think about ... so much had happened, so much was still happening ... she had the mountains and her memories, but she also had her concern for Dana, her anticipation of Holly's funeral (now only a few hours away), her worry over her parents and the still echoing voice of her father clanging around inside her head (would he really calm down..?) and then her ponderings over her own career. If it was proven to the Bureau that she had broken the rules, her career was in danger, there was no doubt about it. But then she was surprised that the thought did not bother her. It was as if she had already made up her mind on the matter of her FBI career already. Maybe she was out anyway. She did not care. And therefore Jana Cassidy could do whatever she liked and Monica felt indifference to the whole matter. She cared about her parents' reaction, and she felt a twinge of pity for the Follmers, but on the whole it was not the FBI she was worried about.

Her hand was being squeezed and she realised Christi had sat down again. She had reached across the table and put her hand over Monica's, and her calm blue eyes stared comfortingly into Monica's own. Her other hand grasped her cup of coffee.

"It's okay," Christi said. "Just remember you're not the first woman in history to go through this. _All _fathers go funny when it comes to their daughters and relationships."

"Most aren't on stage in front of an audience of six billion people," Monica stated.

Christi smiled. "Well I admit that gives it an added challenge, but the underlying concept is the same. You're 33 and he still thinks of you as his little girl, smiling the same cute smile you did when you were five. The fact that you're an adult now and are luring men in with that smile is something he'll just have to adjust to. And it's his problem, not yours."

Monica sighed. She rested her fork in the fruit salad and propped her head up with her hand.

Christi reached across and tapped a finger on the back of Monica's hand.

"Let me share something with you," she said, leaning forward on the table and lowering her voice. "When I was 14 I fell head over heels for this guy named Steve Crossley. He was hot, he was a great kisser, and the things he did with his hands just defied all words."

Christi's eyes were twinkling with a cheeky pleasure at the memory, and Monica could feel the side of own mouth turning up with perfect understanding.

"Anyway, I snuck him over one day during the summer when my parents were out. John was away with the marines by that stage, and so it was just me and Steve in the house. It was a scorcher of a day, the ground burned and the sun burned, and we decided to go for a swim in my parents' pool out the back. I was in a bikini, and we swam a while, and afterward we sat in the chairs by the pool, me in his arms, sun drying us, and began fooling around ... and I didn't hear the door open."

Monica stared and smiled. "So what happened?"

"Mom had come home early," Christi said, her smile fading with the mortification the memory reignited. She took a deep breath and glanced back around the cafe before going on in an even softer voice. "She found me lying in his arms with his left hand groping inside my bikini top and his right down the front of my pants."

Monica raised an eyebrow. She couldn't help grinning.

Christi grinned too. "If she hadn't walked out at that moment I admit the memory would have been much more pleasant. As it is ... it was by far the most embarrassing moment of my life."

"Was she angry?"

"God, yeah," Christi said, nodding. "She was furious. And my Dad was too when she told him. They couldn't believe it. They didn't even know about Steve before then." Christi paused and sighed. "Anyway, to make a long and very painful story a short one, Mom and I fought like hell for the next two days. Eventually - when we'd both calmed down and she decided my whole body sunburn had made me suffer enough - we had a talk about it. And it was actually one of the nicest moments of my life. We talked with complete openness about sex, and about love and relationships, and it made me feel really mature to be able to talk with her like that. She even let Steve come around, too, though I was forbidden to shut my bedroom door. On the whole, it was an awful two days while we fought, but we've been closer because of it ever since. And now - and especially since I became an adult and moved out - we can talk about anything and everything as equals. We're great friends."

"And your father?"

"He went very quiet for about a week and hardly talked to me, but he came around in the end, with a little help from Mom. Then he said I should aim higher, that I deserved better and shouldn't cheat myself."

"And what did John say?" Monica asked, unable to help herself. "Did he ever find out?"

Christi's eyes widened. "God no. And boy am I glad about that. He would never have let me forget it."

Monica laughed. "I thought you two were close."

"_Now _we are, but John and I really weren't that close until Luke died. Before that we teased each other non-stop. I think the seven year age gap made it hard, too. He was so much older than me and I was just an irritating little sister with blonde pigtails causing mischief at every opportunity. And when he retaliated I went bawling to Mom and got him in trouble for it."

Monica grinned. What it is to have siblings, she thought.

"But incidentally" - And Christi's face split into an evil grin - "if you ever want to amuse yourself, ask John about the time I caught him with Amy Parish."

"Why's that?" Monica asked, still grinning.

"I'll let him tell you," Christi said. "Just make sure I'm not around when you do it. Then he can't murder me for tipping you off."

XXX

**_Chapter 39 - Political Games_**

Two minutes later Monica heard footsteps behind her and looked up to see AD Cassidy, Mulder and John all coming to join them. Monica looked away and, with an encouraging look from Christi, braced herself for the interrogation.

"Room for a hero?" Mulder asked lightly, drawing level with her and tapping her on the shoulder.

Monica slid up to sit against the window, so close she could feel the cold coming through it, and Mulder slid in beside her. He spotted the fruit salad sitting there, the container still well over half full, and dipped his bare fingers in and plucked out a piece of watermelon. He threw it into his mouth, then tilted his head and said, "Mmm, not bad."

"Do you mind not dipping your fingers in my breakfast?" Monica threw at him jokingly. She pulled the container back toward her and picked up the fork again.

"Considering everywhere else our fingers have been in the last few weeks I'm surprised you care," he joked.

Monica saw the puzzled look on Christi's face, and knew that to anyone who hadn't been on the mountain, the statement probably came across as something sexual. But she knew exactly what he was referring to, and a scene of bloody snow, with frozen bodies all lined up straight sprung into her mind. She remembered Scully kneeling in the white, her red hair flapping around in the gale, a pocket knife in her hand, stuck into the backside of some anonymous agent, cutting out his flesh for them to eat. And then how she had held that flesh, how impossible it had been to throw it into her mouth and try to swallow, the endless hacking coughing as she felt herself about to choke ... her friends thumping her on the back ...

"That doesn't help," Monica said flatly.

Mulder might be strong enough to make light of it all, but Monica couldn't engage her sense of humour for a scene so horrific.

She averted her eyes from everyone's gazes - including Jana Cassidy, who had sat down next to Christi - and John, who had stolen a wooden chair from another table and now sat on the free side.

Mulder's arm settled around her shoulders then and she felt him shift to sit closer. He rubbed her far shoulder. She knew he probably would have said more except that Jana was with them and watching and waiting patiently.

Monica tried to pull herself together and wrenched her mind away from the painful memories.

"AD Cassidy," Monica greeted professionally. She hesitated, then decided she might as well plunge straight in and get the whole thing over with. "I suppose you want to know whether it's true."

"Not at all," the Assistant Director replied, business-like. "To be frank, I don't think that's the issue here."

Monica wasn't following, and she paused for a second to try to make sense of it, but Jana's expression offered no clues. She was professionally casual - at ease, and not radiating any emotion.

"It isn't?" Christi asked, voicing the same thought when Monica hesitated.

"Not in the context to which you're implying," Jana said. "The truth, as you, Agent Reyes, are referring to it, is about whether or not these physical liaisons occurred, and is barely a matter of concern for the FBI, and certainly not for the nation's newspapers. The truth to which I wish to discuss with you is something much higher, and has to do with the real games that are being played here."

"What do you perceive those as being?" Mulder asked.

In response, AD Cassidy leaned down to the floor beside her and unclipped her black briefcase. She then pulled out a pile of four separate newspapers, and sat them on the table. Monica saw the single word "AFFAIR" spread across the front of the topmost newspaper, and a photo of herself accompanying it. It was all she could to maintain a professional demeanour, and not swipe it off the edge of the table. Instead, she bit the inner part of her lip and held her breath.

"Let me ask you some questions," Jana resumed. "Firstly, what do you think is the purpose of a newspaper?"

Monica replied, "To report on events that have an impact on their readers, whether through direct consequence - such a fall on the share market - or through an emotional investment - like the kidnapping of a child."

Jana nodded. "Anything else?"

"To turn a hefty profit," John said.

"Precisely," Jana said, with a grave tone, and a flash of anger darting through her eyes behind her glasses. "The primary goal of a newspaper is to make money for whoever owns it. Informing its audience is only a consequence, and you can evidence that from the fact that it is this story which appears on the front page, while stories which are much more significant - such as the tipped rises in interest rates over the next quarter - fall back on page five. If newspapers' primary purpose was to relay news, you would also find the front page to be full of print, rather than being taken up by large headlines and photographs, which serve to market the newspaper to passers-by. And so we reach the question of why this story was published in this prominent position."

"Because scandal sells," Christi said.

"Exactly. The primary goal of this article is to make money, not to be concerned with the truth, or else we would have heard from these people last night, asking us for comment. It is of no great consequence to them as to whether this woman speaks the truth or not - the paper sells either way. And it is also of no concern to _us _whether she speaks the truth or not, as the truth to which the FBI is concerned with has nothing to do with individual words and everything to do with meaning. It took us only a few minutes to discover that neither you, Agent Reyes, nor AD Follmer had any loss of productivity during the period to which this allegedly occurred. Nor have we received any complaints from your fellow agents, or any external parties with whom you were working or investigating. Therefore, the truth as we see it is that there is no reason to believe these claims, and that even if they were true, it clearly did not affect your work or irritate your colleagues, and therefore it is not our concern as to whether you dared to be human and open your heart to another person. The real - and unfortunate - truth is that this story is not about you, not about AD Follmer, but about an implication that the FBI is littered with unprofessional people who are interested in nothing more than engaging in sexual intercourse, and that you, therefore, have no right to be admired by society or to be role models to our future generations. And that _is _defamation, no question about it. It is defaming yourself, defaming AD Follmer, and defaming the whole of the FBI."

She was passionate as she spoke, and the fire in her eyes was a sure sign to Monica of what she had suspected all along: that the FBI would not stand for it, and were probably already poised to take every media outlet to the courts - as soon as Jana could confirm they had Monica's co-operation. Monica wondered whether she could give it. It was true that the greater truth was the meaning and implications of the stories - the tanning of all their reputations, overshadowing years of hard work and putting the spotlight onto one single moment of their private lives. On that, Monica agreed it was a disgrace. But she could also not bring herself to lie, especially if it went through the legal system.

Jana went on. "The real truth - as we perceive it - is that sexual intercourse is an innate, biological part of the human race, and that we, as a free country should be leading the world in being able to acknowledge it as such, and cast away these medieval views that anyone who engages in sexual intercourse is worthy only of ridicule. We see the truth as being that if you cared to sum up the events in AD Follmer's life you would discover not a worthless being but someone who has contributed enormously to our society, and someone whose incredible career and dedication to crime fighting should take the forefront, and never be summarised under a few minutes of biology. And I think that above all, is that the real truth in all of this - in all that has happened over the past three weeks - is that we should be striving for more love in the world, and that that is what we, as the FBI, fighting crime, greed and selfishness, should be embracing and encouraging just as much as embrace our sciences. You could argue that crime fighting should be both reactionary and precautionary. We react to crimes that have already taken place, but we should also work for a better society and greater care between our citizens to _prevent _crime taking place. The reason the world is so fascinated by the four of you is that you have proven the power of love, of unity and the human spirit. My greatest fear looking at you now, Agent Reyes, is that you're going to rush to undo everything you've achieved, and instead revert to embracing a world where all that counts is the lining of individual pockets at the expense of the lifetime's work and achievements of our dead friend."

Suddenly, Monica saw exactly what Jana Cassidy was on about. It was Monica, John, Mulder and Dana who had proved to the world what could be achieved through love, and who were simultaneously telling the world the tragedies that could happen when people failed to make an effort to care enough. Holly and Follmer had been two of those tragedies, and it mattered not whether they had been friends with them, whether Monica had been a complete stranger to them, or whether they had been lovers since she'd first hit puberty. It mattered that they were fellow human beings, and that they should have united and put their petty differences aside for the common good -- exactly as the world should be doing now. The FBI had to unite to honour their own, to come through the tragedy of all they had lost, and they were never going to sacrifice their own to the media so that their profit margin would shoot the roof and set a new record. They would defend Follmer because they knew the _real _truth, and Follmer was not around to fight for it himself. And Monica saw that it had been selfishness and indifference of the world that had caused Follmer to shoot himself, and none of them had recognised it or stood in the way of it then. But they knew now. Even John and Dana, who had despised him, were disgusted by their behaviour now. And in response, what they were all doing in allowing these accusations to fester was to make the same mistake again, instead of getting it right standing up for a fellow human being - saying that the truth of Follmer's life was in his achievements, not his pants, and taking down the defamation that the media had put on his character, her own character, and that the very image of the FBI which fought every day against the curses of crime and greed.

Monica's chest was heaving. She was still looking straight into Jana Cassidy's fire-filled eyes. She felt a similar fire light within her own heart.

Jana Cassidy leaned forward. In a soft, calm voice, she said, "Agent Reyes, can you assure me there is no truth to these allegations?"

Monica took a deep breath. She knew very well what Jana Cassidy was doing, the truth-bending and numerous loopholes in her question.

"Assistant Director, I assure you there is no truth to these allegations."

The slightest smile split across Jana's face, but before Monica could share it Jana hoisted up her professionalism again.

"Good," she said, nodding. She gathered up her newspapers and slipped them back into her briefcase. "Now while I'm on the warpath for promoting love and unity, perhaps you can direct me to your father."

"They're in the chapel on the second floor," Christi said.

"You don't have to -" Monica began, but Jana cut her off.

"Your father is a powerful man, Monica, and I have thirty-five years' experience dealing with powerful men." She smiled. Monica got the feeling she was actually enjoying herself, on a roll and ready to defeat the whole world. "I'll just drop by on my way out."

She got up from her seat, gathered up her briefcase and had already walked past John's chair when he called out to her.

"Assistant Director?"

She turned around, straightening the black jacket of her suit.

"Agent Doggett."

John gave her a calculating look.

"Was it you who manipulated the Navy into letting Charles Scully come home?"

The side of AD Cassidy's mouth turned up.

"Agent Doggett, I assure you there is no truth to those allegations."

XXX

**_Chapter 40 - The Second Reconciliation_**

"What'd they say?"

Scully sank back wearily into her pillows as Bill led Charlie and Tara back into the room. All three of them had evacuated when the nurse had arrived to check on her. Somewhere deep down inside, a part of Scully found it amusing that her muscly brothers - both tough Navy men - could conquer the world and yet run a mile when asked to acknowledge the existence of a catheter. But the thought had not made her laugh because as soon as it struck she ached for the presence of Mulder, Monica and John, who had not let it bother them at all, but who were now far away, floors below her.

Scully felt the frustration of her predicament overwhelm her and looked away from Bill's eyes, needing a second to pull herself together. She hated being stuck in bed, unable to do anything, unable to help Monica. Monica needed her and here she was practically tied to the bed, unable to even sit with her or accompany her downstairs. After their parents had all disappeared up the hallway, Scully had asked Christi to translate what had been said, but Christi shook her head and said that if Monica had wanted them to know, she would have said it in English. After some prodding from Mulder, she had admitted that Monica had bluntly told them the truth, but still she refused to give the specifics of the conversation. Then Mulder had kissed Scully goodbye, jokingly told her to be a "good girl" and behave herself, and then left with Christi to go hunt for Monica and John and make sure they weren't in the midst of having nervous breakdowns.

And Scully had been left alone with her brothers and Tara - company she wasn't sure she wanted.

"Dana?" Bill asked again. "What did they say?"

Scully sighed and rolled her head on the pillow to look at Bill, who had sat his huge frame down in the nearest armchair to her bed.

"They said I won't released until tomorrow morning, at the earliest."

Charlie rested his hands on the bedrail near her feet. "Well ... that's okay, isn't it? It's only 24 hours."

But Scully couldn't answer, and merely felt frustrated again by their ignorance. It was _not _okay - far from it. Apart from being unable to join Mulder and John in their mission to protect Monica from her idiotic father, there was also the issue of Holly's funeral. She knew the hospital, and her family, would not want her to attend. But Scully needed to attend, needed to stand there in the church and acknowledge the mistakes she had made in caring for Holly, needed to show that she was sorry and be there for her in her death as she hadn't been in her life. She found herself wondering how they would react if she discharged herself from the hospital. She had the power to do it. Then, too, if she made it through the funeral was the long night on the other side of it. Her three friends would not be able to stay a second night as they would need to sleep, and so she would be left alone in the small room for twelve long hours ...

"Is it boredom you're worried about?" Bill asked. "You want us to go pick up some science journals for you? Or is there some work you'd like us to grab from your apartment?"

Part of Scully's frustration softened. He was trying to be kind, trying to help, but still didn't get it at all.

"That's not it, is it?" Tara asked softly. The mattress dipped as she settled down on the edge. "Is it missing the funeral?"

"Partly," Scully admitted.

It was hard to lie to Tara. Her manner was so gentle and understanding, and she never made Scully feel like a fool for admitting a weakness. Unlike Bill, for whom she would have lied till the end of the Earth had come, had he asked the same question.

"You know your own health has to come first," Tara said gently. "They'll understand. It's all over the news that you're in here."

Scully looked up quickly. She felt a sense of alarm rising in her.

"What did they say?" she asked.

"Just that you were rushed from the FBI with abdominal injuries," Charlie said. "Nothing about how you got them, or what you were doing at the FBI so late."

Scully felt a rush of gratitude for the security staff at the Hoover building. Having them inform the media it was 'abdominal injuries' was much better than the 'urethral bleeding' she had feared they would say. Her heart lifted up slightly at the thought that from top to bottom, the FBI were standing together.

"It'll be okay," Tara continued. "I'm sure you'll be able to meet with her family once you're well again. Then you can tell them how you feel."

"Come on, Dana," Bill said encouragingly. "It won't be so bad. You're pushing yourselves way too hard attending four funerals anyway. You can just take an easy day, get some rest. Get waited upon hand and foot."

"We'll stay with you," Tara said. "If your friends need sleep tonight, we can stay here if you're afraid of being alone."

"I'm not _afraid_," Scully said irritably. She was so extremely sleep-deprived, terrified for Monica and furious with her father that everything was making her angry and she felt her temper bubbling away in the back of her throat.

Immediately she regretted her harsh words.

"I'm sorry," she breathed, looking apologetically at Tara. "I just -"

"It's okay," Tara said, nodding. She took Scully's hand, soft fingers squeezing Scully's. "It's okay to feel emotional."

Scully accepted the comfort and relaxed into the pillow again, trying to calm her nerves and temper. She knew Tara was right - it was normal to be emotional for weeks after a traumatic event. But then, she wondered if her mood had anything to do with the trauma so much as what had happened since.

"I can't stand her father," Scully confessed, looking into Tara's understanding hazel eyes. "I just feel so angry."

"Join the club," Bill said lightly.

"It's another reason to get better," Charlie said, smiling. "If you get well you can get out of here and join the queue to kick his ass."

Scully smiled.

"Though personally I'm inclined to let Christi handle him. I wouldn't mind seeing her make good on that promise."

He was grinning, and it was the same smile that Scully had been surprised to see on him when he and Christi had first arrived for the morning. The subsequent revelations from the newspapers had driven it all out of her mind, but now, seeing his eyes twinkle again, it was brought back with a thud. Scully let go of Tara's hand and subconsciously straightened herself in her sitting position against the pillows.

"Incidentally, I'd like to talk to you about that," Scully said evenly.

"About what?"

"Christi," Scully replied. She paused. "She's out of bounds."

"Her name's Christina," Charlie said lightly.

"Her name's also Doggett," Scully countered. "And the last thing John needs this week is you coming on to his sister like some hormonal teenager."

"Have you considered that maybe she was coming on to me?"

"Well judging by what she said this morning it sounds to me like she's just had a bad relationship break up and I very much doubt that starting a new romance is the foremost thing on her mind. You know the only reason she came all this way is to support John."

"Right," Charlie said crisply. "And the only reason _I _came ten times that distance is to support you."

There was a pause.

"Is that so hard to swallow?" Charlie asked incredulously. "That I might actually be here because I _care_?"

"Oh come on, Charlie," Scully said, "I _know _you care. I just -"

"I do _like _Christina," Charlie said. "She's a great person and I enjoy her company. But if you're shallow enough to believe every rumour you hear sneaking its way out of San Diego and think that I only came all this way to add her to some grand collection of conquests then frankly, Dana -"

"I don't think that," Scully said quickly. "I just ..."

Charlie watched her, his blue eyes deeply offended.

"... just be careful, okay? Tread carefully."

There was a knock at the door and it began to open, but Charlie kept his eyes on her and Scully kept hers on his.

"You can't tread carefully unless you're going somewhere," he said. "And I'm at a standstill."

XXX

Monica sensed the tension crackling away between Dana and Charlie and stopped dead in the doorway. Around her she felt John, Mulder and Christi also freeze. Both Dana and Charlie were staring hard into each other's eyes and it couldn't have been plainer that they had just been fighting.

Then Dana turned her eyes toward Monica and her expression softened.

"Monica," she said, her voice awash with relief.

Dana held out a hand to her and Monica - deciding to ignore the tension and pretend she had not noticed - smiled and walked toward her bedridden friend. She took Dana's hand warmly in hers, sat down on the side of the bed and took the small and bony Dana Scully into her arms and pulled her close. She felt Dana's arms wrap similarly around her waist, and for a moment the two of them just stayed there. Monica smoothed down her friend's red hair with one hand, and held her around the back with her other. She would have pulled away then, except that she felt the stiffness of her friend's body, her body and soul hardened with emotion, and instead Monica continued to hold her.

"Are you all right?" she asked, talking into Dana's red hair.

"Yeah," Dana said. She pulled away, sniffed quietly, and wiped away a few stray tears that had fallen.

Monica's eyes widened with worry at the sight of the tears.

"Are you sure?" she persisted.

But Scully fought off Monica's concern, tucked her hair behind her ear and asked, "What happened? Are you okay?"

Then Monica - with significant amounts of help from John, Mulder and Christi - related everything that had happened in the cafe downstairs. Or nearly everything. Monica did not let her in on anything Christi had shared with her, but told all the four of them could remember of Jana Cassidy's speech and explanations, and also of her plans to talk with Monica's father before she left to take care of the media.

"You sure you're okay with that?" Scully asked when they'd finished. "Letting them sue?"

"Yeah, I am," Monica said easily. "He doesn't deserve that, and neither does the FBI. They've both suffered enough."

"And you," John put in, sitting himself down in the chair next to Bill. "You've been to hell and back, too, don't forget."

Monica said dully, "What made you think I'd forgotten?"

Dana put her hand on Monica's shoulder and squeezed.

Mulder, who had been hovering nearby, now came forward and squeezed her other shoulder, and then leaned down to embrace Dana. Monica shifted back on the bed a little to give them room, and Mulder sat on the edge and took Dana in his arms in a huge, warm hug. She stayed there a while, as she had with Monica, and Mulder rubbed her back through her thin hospital gown and kissed her temple, lips brushing the edge of her hair. When they separated, Dana leaned sideways against him, his arms around her waist and the side of her head resting against his chest. The anger Monica had felt in her looked as though it was now gone.

"It still makes me sick, though," Charlie said. "You have to wonder what kind of person would defame a dead man, an organisation that has just lost 16 employees, and an FBI agent who had to watch them all die and only just returned with her own life."

"It's heartless," Tara said. "The things people do for money, what the world has become."

"It'll be okay now," Christi said. "The FBI won't stand for it. They'll probably all be broke by the time Jana's finished with them."

"If they're thick enough to defame the FBI they deserve what they get," Bill said.

"You'll probably be a millionaire by the end of the day, Monica," Charlie said.

Monica decided not to admit to the fact that she was a millionaire already. On her 21st birthday, her parents had passed down $2 million worth of money and assets to help her support herself. Most of it she had left invested in a variety of places - in property, shares, and some on term deposits. Only a little of it she had spent to help her support herself - a nice apartment when she had worked in New York, and a new car. She had never considered retiring on the amount, or splurging it all on materialistic possessions, as the condition on her receiving it all those years ago had been that she did not permit herself to become lazy and useless. It was to help her do something with her life, to give her a head start, to enable her to conquer the world and live up to the contributions of the Reyes name.

"Money won't fix the damage," Mulder said, still hugging Scully sideways. "It'll never heal the wound."

"We could be compensated millions by the airline and yet it would never hold back the memories," Dana said sadly.

"No, it won't," Christi agreed. "You'll have those memories forever. But the money _can _help. It's not a cure in itself, but you may find there are things you can do with it that might help ease the pain. I mean, you've been exposed to some of the very worst things the world can offer you, but the flip side of that is that you now have the power and influence to change things. You can make the world a better place."

"It's a cruel fact that you have to have the world removed from beneath your feet before you can hold it in your hands," Bill said.

Monica was speechless. It was a whole new angle that she had not thought of, and glancing around at John, Dana and Mulder, she saw that none of them had considered it either. But she was prevented from analysing the possibilities further as the door opened yet again and their parents all returned, Jana Cassidy behind them.

Monica froze as she saw her parents at the front of the crowd. Both of them had tears in their eyes. She felt Dana's hand rest itself supportively on her elbow, but Monica did not look at her. The room fell silent as Monica stared, waiting, at her parents, and as they stared back, gathering courage. Then, as though the hesitation had never been present, her father walked confidently forward. He held out his hand to her like a gentleman asking for a dance, and Monica took it and allowed him to help her to her feet. Then, before she knew what was happening, he was hugging her tight, she was hugging him tight and the tears were slipping out of her eyes in rivers. She could almost hear the people around them smiling, their held breath which then relaxed, but Monica ignored them all, squeezed her eyes tight closed, and continued to hug her father, no words needed.

She heard the voice of Jana Cassidy saying to someone, "Let me know about the funeral", and then her footsteps as she retreated from the room and softly clicked the door closed behind her.

Then, at last, she felt her father begin to let go, and Monica let go as well. A man of few words, he then simply kissed her on the cheek and said, "You're beautiful."

Monica smiled through her watery vision and then turned to hug her mother, who hugged her with equal enthusiasm and when they parted, said through her tears, "Your boss is one smart lady!"

"An _incredible _woman," her father echoed.

"What did she say to you?" Monica asked, curious about what had her parents in the grasp of such admiration.

"It doesn't matter," Mrs Scully said, edging further into the room and standing at the foot of the bed with Charlie. She was beaming, as were both Anne and Jack, who moved to stand with Christi and John.

"What did she mean about the funeral?" John asked.

"She wants to know if you're still attending," Anne said.

The statement hung in the air for a minute. Monica felt the heaviness of the question. She felt the incredible pull of Holly, but equally, there was the pull of Dana's situation ... she met John's eyes. He took her hand and stood up. The hand immediately jumped to rest around her shoulders.

"Have you heard from the doctor?" Mrs Scully asked her daughter.

In the company of a packed room, Dana had become self-conscious and had slipped out of Mulder's arms, who was now just sitting next to her and holding her hand.

"Yes," Dana said, but her face fell slightly. "She said she wants me to stay for observation till tomorrow morning, at the earliest."

There was a slight pause. Monica felt her heart sink somewhere down to her own abdomen. She felt John shift slightly as he took a deep breath.

"Well ... we'll stay then," he said simply.

"No," Dana objected quickly. She took a deep breath herself, shifted her lip nervously, then said, "I've already made up my mind. I'm leaving."

"Leaving the hospital?" Mulder asked.

"Yes," she said. "I'm going to the funeral."

"Dana, you can't do that," Bill said, looking like he couldn't believe his ears.

"Why not?" she challenged. Monica saw her characteristic determination flash into her eyes.

"You're ill," he said. "You have to stay here!"

"Why?" she said again. "I am a doctor, I understand my condition and I have the power to sign myself out. It's only a bruise and it'll heal just the same no matter whether I'm sitting here or in the pew at Holly's funeral. There's no reason to stay."

"What about the catheter?" Charlie asked. "Isn't that supposed to be keeping your bladder drained ... so it can heal?"

"And the tests," Tara put in. "Aren't they monitoring your progress?"

"I'm a doctor," Dana repeated. "I can monitor it myself."

"Dana, this is insane!" Bill said loudly.

"_Bill_!" Mrs Scully said.

He fell quiet.

"Dana, the doctor said you needed to rest," Mrs Scully said. "You can't rest by putting yourself through a funeral."

"She won't be resting either way," Monica said logically. "These memories ..."

"You support this?" Charlie asked, surprised.

Monica fell quiet. Everyone in the room was looking at her, but Monica only met Dana's eyes, and in them saw the desperation, the shadows of Holly, the hatred of being stuck alone in a hospital room. She saw them pleading to support her, but at the same time Monica also knew that part of what everyone was saying was right. Dana was upset and was not thinking straight. She was ill, she rested rest. It was the trauma talking. But still the clear blue eyes stared straight into her own.

"I -" Monica started, uncomfortable to the core.

"Monica," Christi said softly. "This is exactly what you did yesterday. Do I need to remind you how that turned out?"

Monica was silenced by the statement. No, she didn't need to be reminded. Dana looked away. Monica's heart shattered at having to reject her plea for help. She felt like a traitor.

"We'll all stay here," Monica told her. "We can do those things you suggested to me yesterday: write down something for her family, arrange to meet them at another time ... we can take you to the hospital chapel in a wheelchair if you need to pray ..."

But Dana looked away again and her eyes fell on John.

"There's nothin' we can do for Holly now," he said sadly. "But the jury's still out on you."

Dana's mouth was open slightly, her eyes wide and upset with the fact that they would not back her up. She finally turned to Mulder, and her teary eyes pleaded to him.

"Mulder?"

"Scully -" He shook his head. Tears filled his eyes. "When I think of everything we've been through, everything that happened to us on the mountain, everything that's happening now, and in particular everything that happened before we even got on that plane ... I think the truth now, more than ever, is that there has to be an end to it all. When I saw last night the evidence stacked up in our office of all the risks we've run, all the times you've been hurt, both physically and psychologically, it hurts me. And when I look back and see the total sum of all those dangers, all we've lost, and how many times we've nearly lost each other ... I'm not willing to do that anymore. Now we've really seen the frailty of life, how fast it can snatched away, I want it to be different. And the first step toward that is to recognise that we're here again, with you injured, and I'm not willing to gamble anymore. I think the doctor's right that you need to be under observation, that you should be resting as best you can, and ... that's what you should do."

She was silent. Monica saw a few more tears slip out and down her cheeks. She wiped them away with one hand. Mulder tentatively put a hand on her back, and when she didn't shake it off, but sat perfectly still, he began to rub gently.

"We love you, Scully," he finished quietly.

There was a pause. She sniffed and wiped away some more tears.

"Then you go," she said, barely above a whisper. She looked up at Monica and John. "All of you go."

"No," Monica said gently. "We're staying here with you. It's okay."

"We need to go," she said. "At least one of us should be there."

"Dana," Anne said, breaking her silence, "the church is about an hour out. That's an hour of driving each way, an hour for the funeral, another hour for the burial, and plus time for us to change and eat lunch beforehand ... we'd probably be gone five hours at least. Are you sure you can handle being separated so long?"

"We all know how you struggled the first night back," Jack said. "It's okay if you think it'll be too much."

"I'll be fine," Dana said confidently.

"Are you sure?" Christi asked quietly. Monica heard the edge of doubt in her voice.

"Yes," she said, nodding. "I'll be okay."

Mulder's hand had stopped rubbing Scully's back.

"I don't like it," he said suddenly. He looked up at Monica and John. "You two go. I'll stay."

"No," Dana protested. She looked around at him, her eyes still teary and pleading. "Go, Mulder. It's our fault she's gone." She paused. "Please, go."

Monica's heart was being pulled in a hundred different directions, and it hurt so much that she had warm tears in her eyes. She could not support Dana going to the funeral, but if this was what her friend wanted as next best, to make sure that Holly was honoured by the rest of them ... she felt obliged to do that.

"Mrs Scully," Monica said, "would you be willing to stay?"

"Of course," Mrs Scully replied. She nodded around at her family. "We'll all stay."

Mulder looked equally torn as Monica felt. He stared into Scully's eyes, but he could not bring himself to either argue nor agree.

"She'll be fine, Fox," Mrs Scully said, with sudden confidence. She crossed to stand beside him and a hand on his shoulder. "We'll look after her."

"It'll do us good to have some time alone," Tara put in.

There was a long pause.

"Mulder?" John asked.

Slowly Mulder turned to them and withdrew his hand from Scully's back.

He nodded and whispered, "Okay then."

XXX

A few hours later, when they were all ready to leave the hospital and go their separate ways to get ready before meeting at John's, Mulder deliberately made sure he was the last to leave Scully's hospital room. Then, when Anne and Jack were already heading down the corridor to go to their hotel room, when Monica's parents had followed them, and when Monica, John and Christi were waiting a little way up the corridor, Mulder beckoned to Tara and, ignoring the obvious curiosity from the Scully he had just so thoroughly kissed and hugged goodbye, led her into the hallway and closed the door behind them.

"What is it?" Tara asked, worried.

"Just be careful," Mulder said, letting his uneasiness over the whole plan flood to the surface. "She blames herself pretty deeply for what happened to Holly. She thinks that because she was the doctor, Holly was her responsibility, that she let her down in not recognising her state. She was wracked with guilt, and I just -"

"It's okay," Tara said. "We'll watch her carefully. We'll take good care of her."

Mulder lowered his voice even further. "Don't leave her alone."

"Not for a minute."

Mulder nodded, somewhat reassured, although the uneasiness had not subsided.

"You just look after yourselves, okay?" Tara said. "Make it back safely."

XXX

**_Chapter 41 – The Collapse of Fox Mulder_**

In hindsight, Christi knew she should have put her foot down from the beginning. It had all the makings of a disaster and she had been sure it would be one, but it had also been impossible to argue against Dana Scully, who was so stubborn in insisting that if she could not attend herself the least they could do was have one of them put in an appearance to represent them. She knew Mulder had held the balance of power and that they were all only going along with it because he was, because he could not say no to her and understood why she was so adamant. And while the prospect of the alternative - sitting around all day long in that tiny hospital room was something that did not appeal to Christi at all - who generally preferred action over idleness - the option of going to another funeral was not much better.

But they went. Christi drove Monica, John and Mulder back to John's place where they all changed back into formal, black funeral clothes, and where Anne and Julieta both forced everyone to eat a good solid lunch. Christi double-checked that Monica had her anti-nausea medication with her, and then they had prepared to leave. They gave her parents, and Monica's, a 10 minute head start, which was a strategy aimed at coping with the hordes of media, if they were there and ensuring that their families would be ready and waiting to escort them inside straightaway. Then Christi picked up the heavy street directory, slung her bag over her shoulder, and escorted her three quiet victims to the car outside.

"You sure you don't want me to drive?" John asked, locking his front door.

"No, I'll drive," Christi said. She knew John made a bad passenger, but she was determined that she was the better choice.

"You've hardly slept," he said, pocketing his keys as the four of them walked to the car over the wet ground.

"Neither have you," Christi said. She hit the button to unlock all the car doors. The truth was that she thought while none of them had slept well and while she did not know her way around Washington, she would at least be able to keep her mind focused on the road and traffic around her, and not have it drift away to hike mountains. But she could not say that to John, so she simply handed him the street directory and said, "You can navigate."

Christi opened the driver's side door but paused as she looked over the roof of the car and saw Monica helping Mulder walk along down the path. Mulder had hardly said a word since his goodbye to Scully in the hospital room, and had withdrawn into a deep, depressed silence. In contrast, it was now Monica who was completely perky and optimistic again, and she curled her hand around his elbow and led him to the rear doors, which John opened for them.

Christi jumped into the driver's seat, but immediately turned around to talk to Mulder in the back.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked. "You don't look like you're going to make it."

She hadn't been attempting to insult him, but after the disaster with Monica the day before thought the truth was preferable.

Mulder didn't reply. He raised his eyes enough to nod to her, but it wasn't at all convincing, and especially when he had tears in his eyes already. To Christi, it was as good as a flat no.

"You want to go back inside?" she asked gently. "I can call my mom back."

"No," he said, taking a deep breath and finding his voice. "Drive on."

He shifted along in the back seat as Monica climbed in beside him, and John got in the front with the street directory in his lap.

"You're sure?"

"Positive," he said.

Had she been able to turn back the clock afterwards and take another shot at it all, Christi would have made that the moment where she marched everyone back inside. But as she looked at him through the gap in the seats she thought she saw him gathering himself together, and with the compassion of Monica beside him, who buckled her belt and then reached over to grasp his hand, she thought it might be okay after all, and he certainly had enough time to get it together before they got to the church.

"Okay then," she said. "Here we go."

And she turned around, buckled her own belt, and started the engine.

"So is there anything about Holly I should know?" she asked conversationally, as she drove out onto the road. "Tell me about her."

And that carried the conversation the whole distance to the church. Christi discovered that John and Monica had both hardly known Holly, and that she had been largely an acquaintance of Mulder's and a friend of Dana's. But she also gathered that while John and Monica did not know her, they certainly liked her as they described her as having a sweet personality and being someone who would never hurt anyone - someone John summarised with "damned if I know how she ended up in a place like the FBI." But the conversation had its sad points, as it turned to her time between the crash and her death, and John recalled, "she was a mess - blood seepin' everywhere", and Monica stretched Christi's imagination several hundred miles further than she would have liked when she said, shaking her head sadly, "I remember she was menstruating at the time. A plane full of men and no toilet - I felt so sorry for her." Christi's heart ached with sympathy, but had also been unable to resist glancing at John, and saw in his look of surprise that this was a fact he hadn't previously been aware of. Part of her was also impressed that he didn't dissolve into total awkwardness, but then thought that nearly ten years of marriage to Barbara had trained it out of him.

Mulder, however, had been silent the whole trip, and did not contribute to the conversation. This did alarm Christi slightly, and she made several attempts to bring him into the circle, but he seemed to prefer to stare aimlessly out the window at the grey clouds and the gale that was blowing tree branches around wildly, and she eventually let him, knowing he was tired, upset, and needed to be left alone. She understood that, and settled for keeping a close eye on him.

Eventually they arrived at the church, and it had the high point of the day when Christi pulled the car up to a church largely devoid of the media. The major stations were all missing, and if there were a few reporters mingling it was only the more local and minor journalists. Christi, pulling the car to a stop, immediately knew that Jana Cassidy had again protected them and misled the media about their coming.

"This," Christi said, "looks much better than yesterday."

And, in terms of the funeral, alone, it definitely proved itself to be the best it could have been. The church was a division of the Salvation Army, and turned out to be the church Holly and her family regularly attended. The large majority of people there were in the navy blue Salvation Army uniform, and as fellow members of the church had known Holly well for years. There were also small groups of FBI agents, mostly female, and they mixed very well with the church members who were all kind and welcoming souls and took the visitors in with open arms and genuine smiles. This proved to be the case for themselves as well, and after they had met up with Anne, Jack and Monica's parents, they were immediately approached by several members of the Army, who treated them as normal people and not celebrities or sources of sex scandals, and straightaway insisted they come inside out the wild wind that was blowing everyone's jackets around, and subsequently led them straight to the heater in the corner to warm them up.

It soon became evident that the Salvos knew a lot about how to throw a funeral. It was informal, not the sickening political get-together that Christi had endured yesterday with Follmer. There were no queues for prayer books, no lines to shake hands with the Captain, but a general, informal mingling where everybody was welcome and where everyone in the room had known Holly and had a story about her to share. They soon met Holly's family - which had been another moment Christi had absolutely dreaded, but which went so smoothly she later wondered whether she had imagined the whole thing. It was clear that Holly's family were past the grieving stage now, as it had been three weeks since the plane had first crashed, and they had already done their crying and were now ready to laugh again over the happy memories and some of the more absurd times, and move on with their lives. The funeral was hence more of a celebration of her life than of a tearful goodbye. Cheerfulness was mandatory - for everyone except John, Monica and Mulder, who everyone approached with oozing sympathy and warm touches, with compassion, and of endless statements of understanding. It was Holly's sister Jane who mentioned that she was aware of what had happened at Follmer's funeral, and if anyone needed to duck out, the door was only right there, and they were quite free, everyone understood ... there's even a sick bay down the passage there if you need to lie down, and the kitchen first on the left if you want some water ... do you want to sit in the back or front row? You're welcome to the back row if you want to slip out easier ...

If it hadn't been for Mulder, Christi would have felt very good about it all. But while John and Monica both rose to the occasion and smiled and chatted happily with everyone who came to greet them, Mulder was down, and despite all the cheerfulness in the church hall, Mulder's depression worried Christi no end. Five minutes in, her mother planted herself at his side, arm around him, and he remained under her wing until much later when the disaster truly struck. Monica, too, spent most of her time attached to his other side, and carried the conversations directed to them, relieving him of having to speak. Of course, the churchgoers couldn't blame him for being down, and simply oozed even more sympathy and friendly words and touches in his direction because of it. But it was scary, absolutely scary, and when there was a temporary break from people walking over to them, Christi exchanged a grim look with her parents, and then with John, needing to know they were just as frightened about his mental state as she was.

"Let's grab a seat," John had eventually suggested, and they made their way to the front row that had been reserved for them. Mulder sat between her parents, and seemed too distant and depressed to care about not sitting with John and Monica. John and Monica sat side by side, Monica's parents on her other side and Christi next to John. Christi passed tissues to them both, but was glad that she didn't think they were going to need them. The cheerful nature of the funeral, the celebration rather than a farewell held them in the best mood she had seen them in all week, and she knew they would both be okay. But Mulder, however ... Mulder, Mulder, _Mulder _... both John and Monica tried to catch his eyes, and they exchanged endless worried looks between themselves, but there was nothing to be done until they were on the other side of the burial and they could drive him back to the hospital to be with Scully.

Then the service had started. It was easy to listen to, and Christi soon felt that had she known Holly, she definitely would have liked her. There were photos projected up on the screen, individual and group shots with her family and friends, and there were endless happy anecdotes and jokes from those who were speaking. There were several prayers, but it was nothing they could not cope with, and before she knew it Christi sneaked a peek at her watch and saw that half an hour had passed.

At that point, she thought it was going to be all right. Neither John nor Monica were crying, and were even laughing along with some of the jokes made. Neither of them appeared to be up on the mountain.

But Mulder was, and it was barely a minute after Christi had checked her watch when the tragedy struck.

She had been glancing at Mulder throughout the whole thing, wondering if he would make it. He had been crying silently since the service began, but Christi's parents seemed to have it under control. Anne had her arm around him and Jack was even holding his hand. But then when one of the speakers spoke to them directly and began to thank them for bringing Holly's body back, Mulder broke.

Mulder lowered his head in his hands and cried openly. Christi suspected it was not for Holly that was he was crying for specifically, but for everything - for a situation he had run out of strength for in the absence of Dana Scully. He needed to cry, to let it loose, and he did.

Two seconds later - when both Monica and John had their eyes locked onto him with panic but before either of them had the chance to move - Anne and Jack both hoisted him to his feet and led him out of the church, an absolute wreck.

Mulder had psychologically collapsed.

* * *

_There are a few things in this part that I'm proud of. The political manoeuvres of Jana Cassidy is one of them, and also one of the lines I gave Bill of "It's a cruel fact that you have to have the world removed from beneath your feet before you can hold it in your hands." I am wondering whether I should have made a scene of Mulder and Scully saying goodbye, but it's way too late now. I'll make up for it in the next chapter, for anyone who's disappointed. MSR saturation. _

_I also didn't intend to leave the end where I did, but I reached that line and just felt so right to cut it there. I'd planned to totally cliffhang it one scene on, but this cliffhanger works too. Oh well. _


	14. Chapter 14

_I owe a thank you to Lynn, who helped me with some of the finer medical details of this part. Thanks Lynn! I hope you enjoy. **

* * *

**_

**_Chapter 42 - The Collapse of Dana Scully_**

"Here we go, Dana," Bill said, wheeling in a wheelchair. "Ready to go for a spin?"

"That would depend on who's driving," Scully replied, with dry amusement as she watched Bill take the chair on two wheels around the bed and bring it to a haphazard, clattering stop beside the bed. Charlie was beside him, smiling as usual. Her mother was sitting beside her on the bed, her comforting woollen arm resting around Scully's shoulders. Tara was in an armchair.

"I trust you don't drive your ships like that," Scully said.

"How do you know he doesn't?" Charlie asked.

But Bill just smiled. "Gotta check it's sturdy. Don't want it to collapse from under you halfway up the corridor."

"Thank you," Scully said, resisting the urge to smile. "Very noble of you."

There was the slightest pause as Bill and Charlie stood there, apparently waiting for Scully to slip out of bed and into the chair. But then they both remembered at the same time exactly why Scully wasn't throwing back the sheets and blankets.

"Uh ..." Charlie began. "Well we'll wait outside, shall we?"

"No, that's okay," Scully said, half amused, half touched. "Just if you wouldn't mind -" and she pointed up at the curtain beside the bed.

"Sure," Bill said. He promptly took the curtain and pulled it round with the familiar screech it made on its ancient rollers. When he reached Tara on the other side, she took it from him and completed its route until Scully was left alone behind the blue material with Tara and her mother.

Her mother then stood up again, and without hesitation, gently took the blankets and folded them down all the way to Scully's pale knees. The hospital gown Scully wore covered her to mid-thigh, but the plastic tube that snaked its way out from between her legs and over to the bed rail was now visible.

"We should've brought something for you to wear," her mother said, frowning at the flimsy hospital gown.

"We can go later," Tara said. Her kind eyes looked into Scully's. "You have a nightie at home, don't you?"

"A hundred bucks says she doesn't," came Charlie's voice from the other side of the curtain. "Too girly, right, Dana?"

Scully smiled to herself. Charlie knew her so well. She wished she could say otherwise, just to prove him wrong, but unfortunately ...

"As a matter of fact I don't."

"Don't you ever wear something feminine for Mulder?" Bill asked.

"I bet she does," Charlie said. "It's called her birthday suit."

"_Charles_," her mother admonished, glancing up momentarily even though the curtain prevented Charlie from receiving her glare. She had been bent over a large plastic bag that said "Patient's Clothes", and contained the clothes Scully had worn when she had arrived in the ambulance. Her mother had found it in the cupboard by the bed and was now sorting through its contents. While her mother and Tara were distracted, Scully shifted down the bed a little and untied the catheter's bag from the bed rail. She placed it between her legs, ready to pick up and move to the chair.

Her mother fished out Scully's coat, shook it out and handed it to her.

"Put this on," she said. "We need to keep you warm."

Scully thought privately that all the preparation was ridiculous for a short trip to the hospital chapel. It was only down the other end of the floor, not in Antarctica. But she did not fancy her mother's reaction if she voiced her protests, and so obediently slipped on the coat.

"Do you have some socks in here?" Tara asked, digging around.

"Uh, no," Scully said. "I was wearing heels."

Scully then looked up at the curtain that shielded her brothers and added, for effect, "They're more feminine."

"Yeah, right," Charlie said quickly. "More intimidating, right? They give you more power."

"The 'fuck you' factor," Bill laughed.

Scully waited for their mother to tell him off for swearing, but was surprised when she was so distracted she didn't seem to have heard.

Scully sighed, but could not think of a witty reply. There was the rustle of her mother returning the plastic bag to its cupboard.

Then she heard Bill's voice, "There's silence from behind the curtain ..."

"She can't think of a good comeback," Charlie said. "I, Charles Scully, hereby claim victory over the great, one and only, hero of our time, mountaineer extraordinaire, Dana."

"Leave her alone," Tara said. "She doesn't need your teasing."

"Nah, she's enjoying it," Charlie said easily. "Aren't you, Dane?"

Scully felt irritation soar through her at the nickname she despised, but which Charlie insisted on calling her when he wanted to get under her skin. She had always claimed "Dane" made her feel like a breed of dog, and had outlawed it since early in their childhood. Of course, Charlie was perfectly right in that Scully was enjoying his light-hearted banter, because it distracted her from other unpleasant thoughts, but she did not want to admit it and only satisfy him further.

"I think you should've stayed Down Under," Scully replied. She was unable to keep the amusement out of her voice, and knew Charlie would not take it seriously but seize on it as the hidden compliment it was.

Tara and her mother had both switched sides of the bed and now stood beside the wheelchair. Scully, with the bag in one hand, carefully swung her legs around and shifted to the side of the bed. Her mother and Tara both took an arm of hers each and helped her up and across to sit down in the chair. Scully positioned the bag between her thighs and pulled down her hospital gown again.

"Here," Tara said, taking a folded white blanket from the end of the bed. "Place this over your knees."

Scully helped Tara spread it over her thighs and legs, so that the whole lower half of her body was covered. The effect made her feel like an old woman in a nursing home, but for the short time they were gone, it would do. It would keep everything hidden from the rest of the world, especially any reporters roaming the corridors.

"Comfortable?" her mother asked, rubbing her shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Scully said, with fake happiness. "All ready to go."

Tara pulled the curtain back around to reveal Bill and Charlie again. Charlie was first forward and moved to stand behind her so he could wheel the chair.

"To church!" he cried.

He gripped the handles and before Scully knew what was happening, she was being thrown back in the chair as Charlie pushed the handles down and spun the chair up on two wheels so she sat in a "V". Scully gasped and gripped the armrests hard.

"I'd like to make it _alive _if you don't mind," Scully protested.

She glanced over her shoulder but Charlie just grinned down at her.

"When did you become such a wimp?" he teased.

Before she could retort, Charlie lifted a hand and pointed to the closed door.

"Get the door, Billy Boy," he said cheerfully.

As Bill headed to the door and their mother and Tara stood smiling nearby, enjoying the interaction, Charlie leaned down and spoke in Scully's ear.

"Hang on, Dana," he said mischievously.

"I'd quite prefer you give me no reason to," Scully said, raising an eyebrow and looking up at him.

"Oh come on," he said softly, just for her ears. "Someone's got to keep you entertained. Leave it to this lot, you'll spend five hours clock watching." He paused and his smile seemed only to grow. "Am I right?"

Scully felt the urge to smile, and fought it by looking away and facing ahead again.

"That's a 'yes' if I ever heard one."

XXX

In the end Scully was relieved that Charlie behaved himself relatively well - at least in terms of steering her wheelchair and not sending it and herself careering wildly around all the corners on two wheels. He did let off some steam in some funny, zigzagging steering manoeuvres at the start, just to lighten her mood and force a smile out of her, but after being told off by Mrs Scully, he was forced to find other sources of entertainment to keep her smiling.

And he found them with ease. They were barely a few feet down the busy daytime corridors when Charlie decided to treat her wheelchair like a tour bus. He adopted a posh, aristocratic, British accent, and gave her a non-stop commentary the entire way to the chapel.

"If you look to your right, Miss Scully, you'll see the staff bathroom. Built in the early 1900s it has been responsible for relieving the bladders of thousands of weary doctors, and has since acquried a reputation as the busiest room in the hospital. While rumours abound that it is inhabited by the ghost of a nurse who committed suicide in 1938, its most famous claim to fame remains the wage dispute of 1976, in which thirty female nurses threatened to handcuff themselves to the plumbing until a 12 percent wage rise was approved. The threat was carried out approximately one month later, but the staff were disappointed that the action did not have the effect they had anticipated. While the twelve male Board members did immediately descend to investigate the dispute ..."

"_Charlie_," Scully said finally, when she saw exactly where he was taking the story. She had one elbow perched on the armrest, and had her forehead resting on her hand, wanting to bury herself and praying frantically that no one had overheard. She could feel herself turning red as passing doctors and nurses looked in their direction.

"Too much?" he asked. The contented tone in his voice only indicated to Scully that making her squirm had been precisely the effect he was going for.

"A little," she admitted firmly.

Then, noticing that Charlie was deliberately taking the wheelchair at snail pace, she said, "Can't we go a little faster?"

"You told me to behave myself and I am being the perfect angel as requested."

She only enjoyed the briefest pause before he continued.

"Off to your left lies the storage room, home to the largest infestation of bedpans in the United States. Purchased in 1965 ..."

Scully lowered her head further into her hands, caught between amusement and embarrassment. She had, at least, never been happier in her entire life to see a pair of chapel doors, and by the time they reached them and Charlie said "Billy Boy, if you will", Scully didn't know whether to kill Charlie for his behaviour or kiss him for it. But just as he understood her, so she understood him, and knew that underneath all the grinning was an extremely intelligent man trying his best to distract her as long as Monica, John and Mulder were away. And for that reason, Scully continued to smile and appreciate his antics.

"One chapel, as requested," Charlie said, bringing the chair to a pause as their mother closed the doors behind them.

It was a small chapel, and was quite dark even though the lights were on. The polished floorboards, pews, and stained-glass windows also gave it a very solelm atmosphere, and Charlie's joking virtually ceased as he wheeled her chair quietly up the aisle until she was level with the first pew. There were two long, low benches for praying at the front of the room, and between them was a huge cross. Mrs Scully sat down in the front pew beside Scully's chair.

"It's so quiet in here," Bill said, sitting down beside their mother. "It's almost like it's sound-proof."

He glanced around over his shoulder, as though looking at the structure and wondering what engineering feature helped to block out the chaos from the other sides of the walls.

"It's peaceful," Tara said, joining him.

Charlie said nothing, but took the aisle seat on Scully's other side. He looked at her, waiting for her to lead them. It had been her idea to go to the chapel, but Scully had not thought specifically of why she had wanted to come. The thought had simply drawn her in as something she had to do, an action that had been eating away at her since her return to Washington.

"Did you want to say something?" her mother asked gently. Scully felt her hand land on the back of her coat, rubbing, soothing ...

"I don't know," Scully said honestly.

She stared up at the looming cross. It felt overpowering somehow, such a heavy symbol towering over her. It was a symbol that had guided much of her life, even hung around her neck, but yet now, felt foreign to her again. She had sought its comfort when studying medicine, when she chose to ditch medicine and enrol at the FBI, and when her father died. It had helped her cope with her coma, her loss of Melissa and eventually her cancer. Her religion had supported her at so many weak points in her life. But now, when she was weaker than ever before, it offered her no comfort, and only sparked endless questions which made her doubt her faith.

Her family sat silently with her as she continued to contemplate the cross, examining every inch of it, its right angles, the darkness of the wood, the very slight layer of dust. They sat like that for several minutes, her mother continuing to stroke her back.

"Are you searching for reason?" Bill asked softly.

Scully didn't break her gaze from the cross.

"I just don't understand it," Scully said slowly. "I don't understand any of it."

"There is a reason, Dana," her mother said passionately. "We may not see it now, but there _is _a reason."

"A reason," Scully repeated quietly. Without warning, her emotions soared inside of her and the anger that had been lying suppressed rose in her throat and made her heart pound. "A reason to kill Holly? A reason to snap Kim's neck in half and freeze Skinner to death while he called her name?" She saw Bill, Tara and her mother all give the slightest shiver in their eyes as she spoke of things for the first time. "What reason can there be? A reason to kill a boy who'd only been with the FBI six months, to have him die clutching his own intestines? A reason to drive a man to shoot himself? A reason to bury John and Mulder and nearly have them suffocate? A reason to make us eat our colleagues to stay alive? I don't know how anyone, any being or power could justify this."

There was a pause as her family were temporarily overwhelmed by her statement.

"You have to stop searching for meaning, Dana," Bill said. "As long as you try you're only going to dig yourself into a deeper hole and you'll never be at peace with all this."

"It happened," Charlie added, "but it's not mathematics, it's not a logic problem you're going to be able to figure out if you just stare at it long enough. No amount of Einstein is going to figure this one for you. Not any of the geniuses who have ever lived could make sense of this. It's suicide to try."

"I know," Scully said. "I understand it's random. Blind luck."

She thought of her own medical training on trauma, advice and statements that had been repeated to them endlessly since they arrived at the hospital in Vancouver.

"But I can't accept it," Scully finished.

"Dana, you have to," Tara said gently. "If you're ever going to be able to cope with this, you have to try, somehow."

There was a long pause as Scully considered their statements. She knew what they meant, that she had to come to terms with what had happened if she was ever going to move on. Saying it was simple. Actually doing it was something else.

"I don't think we can," Scully concluded. She felt her insides squirming at the realisation. "I think Mulder's right. You don't get past something like this. You don't dodge it, or move beyond it, it's just there. Forever. Eating away at you every moment of your life."

"Of course it's there," her mother said. "The pain will remain with you, as it will for the others. But you have to try, Dana. You have to try and adjust to cope with this. You need to rebuild your life with what you have left."

"And what do I have left?" Scully questioned.

"You have each other," Charlie said.

Scully looked around at him. In his blue eyes she saw his full understanding of the bond she had with Monica, John and Mulder. But as much as they brought comfort to her, Charlie's words were also a reminder that they were _all _she had. She had lost everything else. She had lost her former life, her peace of mind, and her health. She already had doubts about their ability to return to work at the FBI, and yet to leave and seek a new life was extremely daunting, because she could not imagine that she could ever really belong anywhere now. She was separated from the rest of the world. There were those who had seen it, and those who hadn't.

In an effort to explain to them, Scully began talking, her tongue wandering of its own accord.

"When Holly died, it was nighttime. It was below freezing. Completely dark. Mulder and I were on watch, looking out for a rescue while the others slept. They were all holding each other to try to keep warm. We had a flashlight, and Mulder and I shone it around, checking everyone was still breathing. And the hours wore on, and we tried to keep them as warm as we could, covering them with clothing and with what little we had. Holly was asleep with Kim. They were best friends. I remember I kept shining the light on Holly's bad leg, checking it wasn't bleeding again. She was in such bad shape, felt such guilt over what had happened. And eventually we fell asleep ourselves. We were all so exhausted, we'd barely slept for the whole previous week trying to catch the killer. Our bodies were worn out even before the crash. And when we woke, some time later, Holly was gone. Mulder and I hurriedly woke everyone. I shook awake John and Monica, we all put on extra clothes, found her tracks and gave chase. And when we caught up with her, so far away ... she was dead."

Scully paused briefly for breath. She did not look at her family to check their reactions, but kept her eyes ahead on the cross, and talked on, onward and onward as the memory engulfed her and she struggled to explain it, to make them feel it like she felt it herself ...

"She was lying in the snow, hunched up in a ball like she had collapsed when she couldn't walk a step further and had died trying to shield herself from the cold. She was white. Kim began to scream. She ran forward and collapsed beside her body, rolled her over onto her back. And oh God ..."

Scully felt tears in her ears, slipping out and falling down her cheeks. Her lungs felt as though they had shrunk to half their size and she had to pause to take a deep breath as air became harder to get.

"... there was absolutely nothing we could do. We just stood there in silence, as Kim became hysterical. Monica tried to comfort her, she held her, restrained her hard as she just screamed and thrashed around wildly. It was a long time before she calmed down. John stripped off one of his jackets and covered Holly, and then Kim stopped screaming and just became weak, like a dead body herself. And Monica held her and whispered kind words, kissed her, but she was just like an empty shell, devoid of all life."

Again, Scully paused. She saw the memory as vividly as if it was happening again. She no longer saw the cross on the wall, but saw the endless expanses of snow, saw Kim limp in Monica's arms, staring at Holly's dead body as Monica rocked her and desperately tried to soothe her. Again, Scully struggled for breath as the sight tightened her lungs and air became scarce. She gasped and stretched her neck up further.

She heard Charlie's distant voice, echoing around the snow. "Dana..?"

But she ignored it.

"When you see it ..."

She gasped for breath. She felt tears streaming down her cheeks and a lightheadedness that made her dizzy. Talking and breathing simultaneously became a challenge. The discomfort in her chest continued to tighten.

"When you see ... these things ..."

Bill's voice this time. "Dana, calm down ..."

She felt strong, powerful hands gripping each of her shoulders. She could not see the figure holding her, but it was Charlie's firm voice that came next.

"Dana, you're hyperventilating. You need to calm down, okay?"

One of the hands shifted to the side of her face.

"Breathe slower, Dana. Just relax."

But she couldn't breathe slower. It was too hard to breathe, she was so short of air ...

Her mother's desperate voice, accompanied by a hand crushing hers. "Dana!"

Tara's voice: "What's the matter with her?"

"Dana, can you see me?" Charlie asked loudly. "_Focus _on me, Dana. Calm down and _focus _on me."

But all Scully could see was snow, only Monica restraining Kim ... and then she couldn't see anything at all. Spots appeared in the vision, like a television out of tune, and then the spots multiplied and she felt herself falling, falling ... a crash of metal ... shouting voices ... and then nothing.

XXX

"DANA!"

Charlie nearly cracked both his kneecaps when he threw himself to the hard floor where his sister was lying sprawled on her side, but he barely felt it as he felt panic grip his chest tight. He quickly swiped away the section of red hair that had fallen over her face, and saw that her eyes were closed.

"Shit, she's unconscious," he said, glancing up at Bill, who had dropped to his knees on her other side.

"Quick, roll her over."

Charlie gripped his sister's shoulders, Bill supported her head, and between them they rolled her over. She was a dead weight and her arm flopped against the polished floor. Charlie's eyes fell to his sister's chest, which was still, not rising or falling as she breathed, but perfectly still under her light blue hospital gown. He pressed a firm hand to the base of her rib cage, desperately hoping it was merely the baggy garment concealing the movement, but there was no movement to be felt against his palm.

"She's not breathing."

He felt panic rise further within him as he moved the hand to the base of her nostrils, checking for the feel of moving air.

"Nothing."

He looked up at Bill.

"I'll get help," Bill said quickly.

As Bill bolted toward the church doors and began bellowing for help, Charlie tried to drag up his first aid training and struggled to remember the correct procedure. Head back, clear airway ... he tilted Dana's head back and pinched her nose closed. Then, with the possibility of cardiac arrest looming and no time to feel childish, he began CPR, breathing two deep lung-fulls of air into his sister's mouth. Then he quickly began the chest compressions, one hand over the other, counting aloud ...

"One, two, three ..."

His mother and Tara both lowered themselves to Dana's side. Mrs Scully put her hand over her daughter's and looked down at her face with terror as each passing second flew by and Dana remained still and unbreathing. Charlie deliberately avoided meeting his mother's gaze, because he couldn't stand to see the fear there and couldn't afford to lose his concentration. Instead he locked his eyes onto Dana's face, watching for the slightest sign of her breathing again. A cough, a shift of the head, a movement of her eyelids ...

"Seven, eight, nine ..."

"_Breathe_, Dana," Tara said pleadingly. "Breathe ..."

Mrs Scully was too terrified to voice any words, but her hand that was clamped on her daughter's could not have possibly been squeezing tighter.

An announcement suddenly pierced the air through the speakers above them.

"Code blue, second floor, chapel ... code blue, second floor, chapel ..."

"Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen ..."

Bill bolted back in, throwing back the heavy chapel doors with an almighty CRASH, and ran toward them, immediately sinking to his knees again.

"Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen ..."

"_Shit_," Bill said, looking at Dana's still face. "Come on, Dana," he began praying. "Come _on _..."

"Is there a pulse?" Charlie shot at him.

Bill's large fingers fumbled at Dana's neck, pressing here and there, unable to find the right spot.

"I'm not sure," he said.

Tara, desperate to do something, pulled down the bottom hem of the hospital gown, which had ridden up Dana's thighs when she had fainted. She pulled it back to her knees, smoothing it down over her nakedness.

"Come on, Dana," Bill prayed. "For God's sake, don't give up _now _..."

"Twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six ..."

"Here, Bill," Charlie ordered, as his next breaths became due. "You take over."

"Twenty-eight, twenty-nine ..."

In one swift movement Charlie pulled his hands away and Bill took over. Charlie bent down again and breathed two more breaths into his sister. He pulled away, scrutinising her face for a sign of movement, but there was still none ... the panic held him in full force now. It was taking way too long, time was running out ... where the _fucking _hell were the hospital staff?

"Code blue, second floor, chapel ... code blue, second floor, chapel ..."

"Tara, see where they are," Charlie ordered.

Tara pushed herself to her feet and began jogging to the doors.

"Thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six ..."

"Come _on_, Dana ... I'll never call you Dane again, I _promise _..."

Charlie thought of Mulder, John and Monica and wondered what they would do. They would know what to do. He was sure that somehow, they would be able to reach her and bring her back, even now. But he was at a loss as to what that method might be, and they were an hour away now, sitting in a funeral, unaware Dana was dying.

The doors crashed open and a team of doctors and nurses came hurrying in. One of them was wheeling a crash cart ahead of him, and one of the nurses ran ahead to clear the wheelchair out of the aisle and allow them room to pass.

It all happened quickly, then. They were ordered out of the way as the doctors took over and swarmed around her. They were hooking her up to machines, a mask went over her face and they began using a black bag to pump air into her. Charlie didn't understand half of what was happening, but did as he was told and stood clear and quiet, letting them work. They stood against the wall, Bill with his hands on Mrs Scully's shoulders, who had a fist against her mouth and tears of shock in her eyes, watching her daughter die ...

And then she woke. With no warning, she turned her head to the side and began coughing hard, hacking away in the direction of the floor, eyes still unfocused and delirious.

But Charlie relaxed. He sighed with enormous relief as he watched them remove the mask and let her breathe on her own. He heard Bill and Tara sigh also. Mrs Scully let her fist fall away from her mouth and looked over her shoulder to them all. She released her held breath, said, "Oh, thank God ..."

Bill rubbed her shoulders happily with relief.

One of the doctors said loudly, "Dana, are you with us? Can you hear me?"

He leaned over her, had a hand on the side of her face, searching her delirious eyes.

"Dana?"

But as Charlie watched hopefully, his sister only rolled her head from side to side, seeming to be unsure where she was and not hearing the doctors and nurses at all.

"Dana, I need you to speak to us, okay?"

"Mulder ..."

It was a whimper, barely audible, her lips hardly moved as she cried for him.

The pain came back ten-fold for Charlie, knowing she was begging for him but Mulder was not around to be there.

"What's that she said?" one of the nurses asked.

"Speak louder, Dana," the doctor said. "Can you talk to us?"

"Mulder."

This time Charlie could tell the doctor heard and his face registered understanding.

"No, he's not here, Dana," the doctor said matter-of-factly.

Charlie felt the sudden urge to rush forward and sink his fist squarely into the doctor's face. He knew it was the absolute worst thing the doctor could do, to say so unsympathetically that Mulder was not around. And he was right, because as she heard his response she turned her head dizzily to the other side, in obvious mental distress now, and pleaded, "Mon'ca?"

The pain in Charlie's chest increased again. He heard Bill murmur, "Oh no ..."

He, too, was aware of her distress and his face softened with pain equal to what Charlie felt.

The doctor, however, was oblivious to the emotional bond the four shared and merely said, "No, they're not here, Dana", before continuing with other requests for her to wake up properly, to tell them how she felt, if she was in any pain ... and Scully only continued to struggle, turning her head from side to side, as if trying to toss away something and grasp onto something else, but the people she needed to grasp onto in order to calm her down were not around, and she became more and more distressed as her brain began to register that they were not there, as she repeated Monica's name, and then John's, and then, faintly, Mulder's again ... and none of them came to her side, none of them grasped her hand and told her it was all okay ... there was only the heartless voices of the doctors who saw a physical condition independent of the underlying causes and unaware they were damaging her further with every matter-of-fact word they spoke.

"Shit," Charlie said, and turned away as the sight of his sister pleading deliriously became too much to bear any longer.

And obviously his mother thought so too, because she, too, turned away. But it was not aimlessly, as it was with Bill and Charlie, but with purpose. Without a word to them, she began marching for the chapel doors, digging around frantically in her handbag as she went. Charlie considered following, but then he heard Dana whimpering, saw that her eyes were wet with distress now, and his feet became like lead. He remained, watching with Bill and Tara, completely unable to move.

XXX

"Let's sit down over here."

Anne steered the crying Mulder to an old, worn couch in the back room of the church. It was a room devoid of all other furniture except for a long table against the far wall, and from her experience in her own Baptist Church back in Atlanta, Anne knew this was for the food and drinks after services. The kitchen was adjacent, and visible through a cut square in the wall, and beyond, at the kitchen bench, Anne saw a mature woman in Salvation Army uniform look up at them. As the woman began to move toward them, Anne turned her attention back to Mulder.

He was crying between them, not noisily, but quietly sobbing into his hands. Anne hugged him from the side, rubbing his back with one hand and his knee with her other. She would have hugged him fully, except that she felt the awkwardness in his posture at what she was doing already, and knew he would not want to be taken completely in her arms. It made her wonder how long it had been since he had been hugged by a mother figure. She knew from the tabloids that his mother had died three years ago, and that he had no immediate family left. It made her think it had been years since this grown man had gone crying to someone - at least, she thought, someone except for Dana Scully.

But Dana Scully was not here now, so Anne took Mulder under her wing, feeling so sorry for this man who had finally cracked under the pressure of their situation.

"It's okay," she said calmly, trying to bring him out of his huddled embarrassment. "It's all right."

"Can I help?" the Salvation Army woman asked, approaching them with a kind expression.

"Yes, do you have some tissues?" Anne asked. She herself had none left, and it was Christi who had their supply.

"Sure," the woman replied. "We've got plenty in the kitchen. I'll go get them."

She retreated through the door to the kitchen and returned a second later with a box of Kleenex.

"Thanks," Anne said, taking the box and pulling a few out of the top.

"Take these," she said to Mulder, pressing them gently into his hands. He took them but did not use them.

"Come on, it's okay," Jack said. "We'll just sit here a while. You'll be fine."

"There's no shame in being upset," the woman said kindly to Mulder, kneeling down in front of him. "We've all had our share of tears over the last few weeks, I assure you. It was such a shock when we found out. She was such a kind, honest person, such a gift to society, it can be a struggle to understand. I hate to think how you must feel, having been there and seen it all."

"It can help to have a cry, I think," Anne said, still rubbing Mulder's back. "Just to let it all out, and not keep it bottled up inside."

"Does you the world of good," Jack added supportively. He had his hand on Mulder's knee, and it was times like this that Anne really loved him. He was a man who wasn't embarrassed to comfort another, who had seen many things in his years and wasn't restrained by machoism like other men she knew, the husbands of her friends, and some of their sons who would be out of their league in this situation. But Jack took it in his stride, and sat on Mulder's other side, completely at ease, patting his knee and offering kind words.

And gradually, under their comfort, Mulder's sobs eased and he began to calm. He emerged from the shelter of his hands, actually used one of his tissues to hastily wipe his eyes, and then raised his head a little and sniffed.

"Thank you," he said, voice shaking a little and struggling to recover.

"There's nothing to thank us for," Jack said, moving his hand to Mulder's shoulder.

Mulder sniffed again and wiped his eyes.

"She was a lovely girl," Anne said. "Didn't deserve this at all."

Mulder scrunched up the used tissue into a ball.

"No one did," he said, sighing heavily.

"No, no one did," Anne agreed. "Unfortunately it always seems to be the people who are least deserving that are hit with these things."

"They -"

Jack broke off as the shrill sound of Anne's cell phone pierced the air. Anne sighed irritably and reached for her handbag at her feet to shut it up. She pulled it out and looked at the screen. It was not a landline number, as she had thought. Her mind had gone immediately to their family members back in Atlanta, whom they were calling every night to keep them informed of everything that was happening. There were Anne's own three sisters and their families, Anne's mother, Jack's parents, and Jack's brother and sister, all who were desperately concerned, but were staying back for now, knowing there was little they could do. So Anne and Jack had been phoning them nightly, partaking in long phone calls which served not only to keep everyone informed, but also to vent their own feelings, and get some support themselves. But now, looking at the cell phone number, she did not recognise it but at the same time it was faintly familiar, like she had seen it somewhere ...

And then she remembered. With a sinking feeling, Anne hurriedly stood up.

"I'll be right back," she said smoothly, but as she retreated to the kitchen and found the exit door to the wintery gardens outside, she felt panic within her, because Margaret Scully would not call and risk interrupting a funeral unless something serious had happened.

XXX

Two minutes later, Anne was sneaking back into the central church hall where the funeral service was still going. As she quietly closed the side door behind her, dozens of pairs of eyes belonging to the congregation looked up at her with curiosity. Amongst them, sitting near Holly's family, was Jana Cassidy. The speaker - the church Captain - looked over at her as well as she hurried up the side aisle, but she was grateful that he chose to ignore her and kept going with his speech.

When she drew level with the front row pew, Christi was the first to spot her, and immediately spotted an emergency in her face. Her eyebrows contracted with instant concern as Anne crouched down slightly to be less conspicuous and beckoned to the whole row - Christi, John, Monica, and Monica's parents.

"Grab your things," she ordered, as quietly yet urgently as she could.

"What's the matter?" Christi asked, equally softly.

"Mulder okay?" John echoed.

"Just hurry," Anne said, and waved at their bags and bits and pieces on the carpet at their feet. "We have to go. Now."

Anne saw Monica's eyes make a sharp connection with the cell phone Anne still held clenched in her fist, and as if making an ESP connection, Monica instantly stood up. Christi, sensing disaster, stood with her. John, and Monica's parents, followed.

"Is everything okay?"

The Captain's voice rang out through the microphone and Anne looked up, feeling a surge of guilt for interrupting Holly's funeral. As she stood there with all eyes upon her, she knew she had no choice but to tell the truth.Only with the truth could their apparent rudeness be accepted.

"I'm very sorry, but we have to leave," Anne said apologetically, speaking to the whole room. "Dana Scully's taken a turn for the worse."

John and Monica's eyes instantly widened with panic. The congregation were silent.

"What?" John demanded, in a loud voice that rang around the silent room. "What happened?"

Anne took a deep breath. She struggled with the words on her tongue, knowing the pain it would bring to her son.

"She went into respiratory arrest," she said. "She's in the ICU, but she's still unstable. Margaret wants you back immediately."

She didn't get a chance to say more. John and Monica both broke into a full run, bolting for the exit. Christi quickly gave chase and was two steps behind. Anne already knew that Jack and Mulder were outside in the parking lot. She began to hurry herself, too, with Monica's parents behind her, but as she opened the exit door, she stopped and looked around at the hundreds of wide eyes, sharing their panic.

"I'm so sorry," Anne apologised again. She hated to disrupt the funeral and take the focus away from Holly.

"Best of luck," the Captain said, looking as scared as his congregation. "We'll be praying."

XXX

It was one of the most intense hours of Christi's life. If the experience of waiting for news on the missing Luke was cut from her mind, and also the two weeks of waiting for news on John, it would have easily ranked as _the _most intense.

She ran out of the church, chasing John and Monica to head them off before they lost their minds completely, and after barrelling out through the wooden doors which Monica had left swinging closed, she found herself back outside in the icy winter weather. The wind had picked up again and the trees and plants bordering the church and parking lot were all bent double, leaves nearly losing their precarious grip on the stems they were clinging to. Christi felt the harsh air slap at her face and her hair blowing around, but still it hardly registered as she chased John and Monica to the car, where Mulder was waiting for them, shifting impatiently under the restraining grip of Jack's hand.

Then Christi slowed to a fast walk, needing to appear in control so she could coax them back down to her level. She dug in her bag for the car keys, being very thankful that they were in her possession rather than someone else's, and pressed the button to unlock the car doors as she approached. John and Monica both hopped into the back seat, but Mulder hurried forward and with a look of wild determination in his eyes, held out his hand.

"Let me drive," Mulder said shortly.

"No way." Christi pointed to the other side of the car. "Get in."

He didn't move.

"Just _give _me the keys," he said insistently, voice laced with anger. Christi could see that he was barely holding back his emotions and was standing, toes on the edge, of a great cliff of outright aggression.

"So you can drive us up a tree, I suppose," Christi said, standing her ground. It was rather like zillions of other arguments she had had, but all of which had been with kids under ten at her school.

"Get in," she repeated, waving again at the passenger side and hoisting her standard teacher, no nonsense look onto her face.

"You're in no condition to drive," Jack said, backing her up.

For a moment Christi wondered whether he was going to hit her. He didn't move, and his eyes were filled with anger. But then the back door clicked open again and Monica stood up on the asphalt, her brown hair blowing around wildly in the gale.

Monica called his name. "_Mulder_."

Her urgent brown eyes somehow reached him. His chest sank, he gave her the slightest nod, and then turned his back and walked moodily around to the other side. When he got there, John emerged from the back seat, forcing Mulder there in his place where he could sit next to Monica and she could keep an eye on him. John took the front instead.

"You okay to drive them?" Jack asked her quietly, his narrowed eyes on Mulder. "He looks like he'll start taking hostages if you drive anything less than 100 miles an hour."

"Yeah, it's fine," Christi said, opening the door. "He isn't armed, remember."

"Take care," Anne said, emerging with Monica's parents. "Drive safely. Take no risks."

Christi looked over her shoulder and shared a brief look of understanding with her mother, but there was no time for extended questions, and any second she delayed was only exponentially increasing the chances of Mulder having a complete breakdown. So she hurriedly jumped in the car, threw her handbag at John's feet and started the engine.

In the end it was only with Monica's help that the four of them made it to the hospital with their sanity intact, and during the drive, it became quickly apparent to Christi why Monica had been the one to get them out of the mountains. Because unlike Mulder and John, who were both hopelessly restless, self-blaming and short-tempered, Monica was excellent in a crisis. She kept a cool head, and when the men lapsed into their raw emotions she patiently refuted all their arguments and fears even though Christi, looking in the rearview mirror, could see that she was plainly scared herself.

"We should never have left her," John said, shaking his head, utterly pissed off with himself. His hand gripped the dashboard in front of him, and his knuckles were white.

"We had no choice," Monica said patiently, reaching over to grip Mulder's hand. "You know how much it meant to her that we came here."

"No, we should've known," Mulder argued. His head was lying back against the headrest and his eyes were closed, barely holding in his emotions. It made Christi think he would flip out completely if it weren't for Monica holding his hand.

"How should we have known?" Monica asked.

"It's been obvious all along she needs us present," Mulder said, sounding furious with himself. "Her nightmares, her lack of sleep, last night at the hospital ..."

"What's respiratory arrest mean anyway?" John asked, cutting in.

"It means she stopped breathing," Christi supplied, slowing the car as they approached a busy T-intersection.

"Yeah, but why?" he persisted. "The scans only showed a bruise."

"I don't know," Christi said. "We'll know when we get there."

It was a lie. The truth was she thought the odds were heavy that it would have had an emotional cause, but there was no way in hell she was going to say that to John and Mulder. It would only spiral them further away.

"Your mom said she's unstable," Mulder said. His irregular breathing betrayed his fear.

Christi struggled to think a calming angle on that one, and was glad when Monica took over again.

"If she is, then until we get there, the ICU is the best place for her," Monica said logically. "They'll be monitoring her closely, not a thing will get past them."

"Looks as if one or two things got past them already," John said.

"She'll be fine," Monica said. "There's no need to panic. She'll have plenty of doctors around her, her family are there with her -"

"You know she hates Bill," John cut in again.

"She doesn't hate him," Monica said naively. "He's her brother."

"Even if she does, she still has the other three," Christi added. "She seems close to her mother, and seems to get along well with Charlie, too. She'll be all right until we get there."

But Mulder just shook his head and said, "We should never have listened to her."

"Believe that if you want," Monica said, "but do her a favour and save the ass-kicking for when she's better. It'll be the last thing she needs right now."

The rest of the drive was taken in silence.

XXX

Mulder power walked down the corridor to the ICU wing, his heart still feeling heavy and like it was in the grip of a giant claw, as it had been for the past hour. Alongside him strided John, Monica, and Christi, and as they walked further and further Mulder became more and more annoyed at how many things managed to get in his way. Several times he nearly collided with nurses and doctors emerging from side rooms, their eyes averted down at clipboards and charts, and he lost count of the number of apologies he threw of his shoulder. Many people, both patients and staff, looked up curiously at the sight of them, but Mulder was in no mood to care for that either, as his mind was locked onto only one thing: Scully.

His eyes were on the lookout, too, for Scully's family, and as he powered down the corridor dodging people and equipment he cast his eyes onto various stretches of plastic seating and small carpeted waiting areas, hoping to catch sight of them.

Eventually they emerged into the central area of the ICU section, and their walking slowed as he, John and Monica cast their eyes into each visible bed, through windows and glass in doors.

"She must be here," Mulder said, turning around on the spot. His mind thought of the nurses' station, except the nurse behind it was locked into a rapid conversation and Mulder couldn't be bothered waiting around politely until it ended.

"There's Tara," Christi said suddenly, and doubled back the way they came.

Mulder spun on the spot and found himself jogging toward Tara, who had emerged from nowhere and was walking toward them. Mulder registered that she looked like hell. Her eyes bore all the tell-tale signs of crying sometime in the past hour, and she looked completely worn out and ready to collapse. The sight of her did nothing to calm Mulder's nerves.

"Where is she?" he demanded, the claw around his heart tightening.

"Is she all right?" John echoed.

Tara shook her head vaguely, the questions almost too much for her.

"She's up here," she said, and walked with them a little way before stopping in the middle of the corridor and pointing to a window. Mulder turned and instantly the sight nearly made his legs disappear from under him.

Scully was in bed, back turned to them, attached to a million tubes and screens. Sitting on the side of the bed, facing her daughter, was Mrs Scully. Her face only heightened Mulder's fears, and though he had been planning on rushing in he now only felt rooted to the spot, because she was openly crying, and her face was so watery and her expression so drained of all strength that Mulder's heart nearly imploded. Charlie stood beside his mother, a hand on her shoulder, but his eyes too were locked onto Dana. And though he looked in better shape than both Tara and Mrs Scully there was no mistaking the look on his face; it was one of someone who was standing on unstable ground and who knew it. What Mulder also noticed was that neither of them were talking to her, and that made him instantly think she was either asleep or unconscious.

The sight breaking him, he found himself reaching blindly outwards, searching for support. His hand struck something solid - someone's shoulder - and when a second later their arm went around his waist he knew without even looking that he had grasped Monica. Her touch was identifiable in its strength and calmness, and it gave him the strength to find his legs again.

He took a huge deep breath, tried to pull himself together, and then walked through the group to the door. His hand shook as he reached for the handle.

When he opened the door, both Charlie and Mrs Scully snapped to attention.

"Fox," Mrs Scully said weakly, and her face was awash with relief.

"Thank God you're here," Charlie added, equally relieved.

Mulder felt a hand touch his back and realised then that Monica and John were behind him and that he was blocking the doorway. He stepped forward to the bed, eyes on Scully. The monitors around her bed were beeping, measuring her heart rate and blood pressure, amongst other things. But Mulder saw only her body, and with great care, he lowered himself to sit on the very edge of the mattress and leaned over to see her face. Her eyes were closed, and her cheeks stained with recent tears, like her mother and other members of her family.

"Is she asleep?" Mulder heard John ask.

"For about the last quarter hour," Charlie replied softly.

"What happened?" John asked gently.

But there was silence. Charlie shook his head vaguely.

"You said she was unstable," came Monica's gentle voice.

"Her vitals have been all over the place," Charlie said. Mulder heard clear unsteadiness in his voice. He almost sounded like he was going to snap as well, and wasn't surprised when Monica ceased her questioning, knowing neither Charlie nor his mother were up for it.

The door opened. Mulder didn't look around - he was still looking only at Scully's sleeping face - but he heard the stern voice of a nurse.

"I'm sorry, but we can only allow a maximum of two people ..."

"It's okay, I'll go," Charlie volunteered. "I need a break. Need to -" He took a deep breath to steady his voice. "... take a break ..."

"We'll leave you alone," Mrs Scully said, voice shaking, and got up to join her son. She looked so unstable it was if she could not stand another minute anyway, and needed to get away, to escape for a moment to somewhere else ... _anywhere _else ...

Charlie put his hand back on her shoulder to escort her out. The two silently moved past the nurse. Glancing quickly around, Mulder saw John and Monica standing at the end of the bed. The expression of worry had disappeared from Monica's face and been replaced by one of puzzlement and confusion. She watched the retreating backs of the Scully family members. Mulder followed her gaze and saw them emerge into the corridor where everyone else was gathered: Bill, Tara, Anne, Jack, Christi, and Monica's parents. Even under the influence of his heavily fuzzy sense of judgement, Mulder still saw how affected the four Scullys were. Even Bill looked lost, drained and slightly wet-eyed ...

"They didn't say what happened," John said, voice as puzzled as Monica's expression.

The nurse was still standing in the doorway, waiting for one more person to volunteer to leave.

When Monica spoke again, her voice was strong.

"I'm going to find out."

"I'll come," John quickly agreed.

They headed for the door, but turned around.

"You'll be okay?" Monica asked.

Mulder nodded. What he needed now was to be alone with Scully, that was all. For him, and for the first time ever, it didn't matter what had happened. He was not curious, felt no desire to find the cause and analyse it to death. He just wanted to sit there, alone with her, to stare at her breathing, watch her sleep, and know she was alive. As he nodded at Monica, he saw in her eyes that perhaps she had sensed that, and that reason had merely been the excuse to give him the chance. His heart soared with affection at the realisation, because both Monica and John loved Scully immensely, had felt the fear as much as he had, and yet now because of a hospital rule limiting the number of visitors, they were sacrificing the chance to be with her in order that Mulder could have his moment. For the split second in which all this occurred, a part far back in his mind swore that sometime, Mulder was going to make this up to them ... especially to Monica ... but then they both left to join the huge crowd on the other side of the glass, and Mulder turned back his attention to his lover, watching the rise and fall of her chest, studying her damp cheeks, his heart pounding with so much emotion he was still, weighed down by the force of it ...

"Scully ..." he whispered. He reached out to stroke a finger down her hair. He was so scared to touch her for fear he would wake her, and it was this sleep that was so hard for her to achieve. He could not be selfish and wake her up just to satisfy his own nerves. So he sat, alone, and stared and gazed, his mind so cluttered with emotion that he could not make sense of anything - and could not do anything but feel the pounding of his heart as it throbbed with the pain of his love.

* * *

_I think that is quite possibly the gooiest sentence I have ever written. I feel like deleting it, it's too much for me, but maybe someone MSRish might appreciate it. I apologise for where I've cut this - LOL - talk about leaving it on a downer, but I have a set word count for where I'm cutting it each time and it just happened to land here so I'll leave you all in suspense for a few weeks, eh? _


	15. Chapter 15

_Thanks to LauraPetry, BrittanyLS, bumblebee917, Daisyz and KappaO for sending feedback on the last chapter. It helps so much in motivating me, in knowing that people are reading and enjoying, sending their thoughts and comments, or constructive criticism of what they feel is missing. I can't describe how much it helps, so thanks!__**

* * *

**_

_**Chapter 42 - The Collapse of Dana Scully (continued...)**_

When Monica emerged into the crowded corridor of concerned relatives, she found herself immediately under her mother's arm. Her mother's soft hand was busy vigorously rubbing Monica's far shoulder, as though trying to bring her back out of her shock through the force of friction alone.

"Honey, are you okay?"

But Monica hardly felt her mother's hands on her, and only barely heard her words. Her attention was solely focused on Mrs Scully, who had walked through the crowd, emerged at the other end, and was now ambling slowly down the corridor with her hand over her eyes, and arms folded tensely across her front, hugging herself. The sight tore at Monica's heart and she forgot to answer her own mother's question.

"Monica?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Monica said automatically, as she watched Bill, Tara and Charlie hurry to catch up. Charlie put his hand on her shoulder and gently steered her to a comfortable waiting room off through a side door.

"I'm sure she'll be okay."

It took a Monica a second to figure out who her mother was referring to, and when she did, she couldn't help turning to look at her. The statement was so absurd that Monica couldn't even think of a polite enough way to correct her, and only just stifled her frustration in time. Because Scully was not okay, was anything but okay, and in that moment Monica felt a world apart from her parents and found their presence of no help or comfort whatsoever.

"Come on," John said, holding out his hand to her. His face, too, showed signs of impatience.

Monica left her parents' company and walked forward with John, following the Scullys. His hand briefly settled warmly on her shoulder, but by the time they reached the door to the waiting room it had fallen away again.

They stopped there, just inside the doorway. It was a large room, as far as waiting rooms went. It was carpeted and filled with comfortable chairs, and there was a table piled with old, torn magazines. It was empty except for the four Scullys. But Monica felt a sudden reluctance to follow them in, and she felt like an intruder being there at all. As they watched, Mrs Scully broke away from Charlie, held a hand up to stop any of her children from pursuing her, and then put her hands back over her eyes and walked aimlessly down the row of armchairs, not selecting one, but just pacing around the room in meandering circles. Monica heard her whimper, and Tara started toward her, but then Anne appeared from nowhere, walked straight up to them, and put a hand on Tara's shoulder to stop her as she walked past. Then she continued on to Mrs Scully, and wordlessly took her in her arms. Then Mrs Scully - a woman who had had to endure three weeks of hell - ran out of strength and cried with gut-wrenching sobs into Anne's shoulder.

Everyone else stood in silence as the crying of such a strong woman touched a raw nerve for everyone in the room. Monica temporarily forgot her mission to extract details on Scully's condition, and was left to try to keep her own heart from shattering as well. She felt John reach for her for support, putting an arm around her, needing her close, and Monica looped an arm around his waist in return. Glancing up into his eyes, she saw the sight was tearing him apart. Christi exchanged a look with Monica, and then, leaving her to comfort John, moved past to the Scully siblings. Bill, Tara and Charlie were all drained of strength themselves, and Bill and Charlie both had wet cheeks. Christi stepped up to Charlie and took his elbow gently in her hand. When he registered no surprise or shock, she put her arm around him lightly.

Anne continued to hug Mrs Scully, saying to her, "Shhh ... we'll figure something out. She'll be fine. Just keep faith ... it will all be okay ...", and slowly Mrs Scully began to calm.

But as everyone else around Monica fell apart, as even John trembled slightly and had wet eyes, Monica felt a logical fire of strength begin to burn inside her. It was a strength she always found in desperate situations, the courage to go on when nobody else had strength left, the same tenacious fire she had felt when Mulder, Scully and John had all been ready to give up and die on those snowy mountain slopes in Canada. And the longer the moments wore on, the more John's hand clung to the material of her overcoat, the brighter the flame burned and the more she began to feel the beginnings of impatience as her mind returned in full force to finding out what had happened to Scully, because locating that knowledge was the first step to figuring out how to help her. The Scullys, the Doggetts, Monica's own parents had not been on the mountain and could not piece the puzzle together. Mulder was too distraught to be of any help, and John was slipping too as his emotions wore down his strength. But Monica could help. She knew that now, she was perhaps the only one who could. The flame inside her turned into a raging fire of determination, until at last, Mrs Scully pulled herself together, let go of Anne and was digging around in her pockets for tissues. Then she was dabbing at her eyes, Anne was taking her by the shoulders and leading her back to sit down on a three seater, and Monica, as gently as she could, disentangled herself from John. She gave him one loving squeeze around his waist, and with an apologetic look, left him and crossed the room to sit down on the free side of Mrs Scully.

With the gentlest voice she could manage, she asked, "Mrs Scully, what happened?"

There was a pause, and then Mrs Scully took a deep breath and said, "It was a disaster."

Monica had pieced together that much, but knew from years of experience in taking statements from distressed victims of crime that she should not be rushed. So she waited, and said nothing as her silence invited her to go on.

Bill, moving to sit down with Tara, picked up the thread.

"It was like some kind of panic attack. One minute she was the fine and the next she was unconscious."

"A panic attack?" Monica prompted.

"Triggered by what?" John asked, eyes narrowed with confusion.

It was a look that steadied Monica's heart, because in his eyes she saw the return of the FBI agent. Now he was out of the murky field of emotion and back to analysing, he was together again. It felt like her second foot had found the floor again and her balance had been fully restored.

"She was telling us about Holly," Tara began. "The night you found her. We were in the chapel - we took her there in a wheelchair - and she started off okay, but -"

"She was searching for reason," Charlie said. "Trying to find some way to explain everything. I mean, she was down, but she was fine until she just started talking about Holly."

Even as she listened, Monica couldn't help noticing that one of Charlie's arms had fallen of its own accord around Christi's shoulders. He apparently didn't even know it was there.

"We didn't know it would do this," Mrs Scully said, in a low voice wracked with regret. "The doctors said to listen to her, to allow her to talk ..."

"You couldn't have known," Anne said soothingly, giving her a slight squeeze with the arm she still had around her shoulders.

"And she slipped into a panic attack?" Monica asked, trying to link everything together.

"I don't know how it happened," Charlie continued. "She was just talking about it, and as she got along she became further and further away in her expression ..."

"It was like she was there again," Bill said.

"And then her breathing changed ..."

"We should've stopped her right there," Mrs Scully said.

"And what happened?" John asked. "She fainted?"

"Yeah," Tara said, nodding. "She wasn't breathing."

Monica felt her heart clench slightly. Knowing they had got her breathing again still didn't diminish the pain of hearing it, especially when she hadn't been there.

"Charles gave CPR," Bill said. "I ran for help, and the doctors arrived with all the equipment in about 30 seconds, but ..."

He drifted off, shaking his head in vague confusion.

"But?" Monica prompted gently.

"Well they resuscitated her ..."

He paused again.

"She was ill," Mrs Scully said heavily.

Something was seriously amiss, and Monica was struggling slightly trying to figure out what it was she was missing.

"Ill?" John asked.

"Did she vomit?" Monica elaborated. "Was she unstable?"

"She was delirious," Charlie said, sighing heavily. "She _is _delirious."

"She was barely conscious," Bill went on. "Couldn't hold her eyes open. She just repeated your names over and over ..."

Monica felt her heart almost stop.

"She asked for us?" John asked quickly.

"She's been begging for the three of you non-stop," Tara said softly.

Monica wasn't aware of making a decision, all she knew was that suddenly she was halfway across the room and rushing for the door. John, too, was hurrying, but as Monica got to the doorway and went to walk past her parents, her father shot out his arm and caught her hard and painfully around her elbow.

"_Wait_," he said, speaking to her in Spanish.

Monica stopped. The urgency in his voice brought her feet to a still. Then, looking up at his face she saw his eyes were narrowed shrewdly. She found herself turning to follow them to their target, back to the Scullys.

"What else happened?" her father asked them. "There's more."

Monica didn't know how he knew this, but as the four Scullys hesitated, she saw suddenly that he was right. John edged back into the room, his eyes narrowed again.

There was a long and painful pause.

At last, Mrs Scully said, softly and in a voice laced with pain, "She doesn't recognise us."

Monica stared. Her feet, which had been itching to rush out again, now didn't feel like going anywhere.

"She doesn't recognise you?" Jack asked.

Mrs Scully's eyes filled with tears again. "They let Charles and I sit with her, once they'd moved her here. We tried to calm her ... I held her hand, but ..."

The tears slipped, she emitted a small sob and Anne tightened her arm again. Her own face was worried now.

"She's not responding at all," Charlie said, filling the shocked silence. "It's like she doesn't know who we are. There's just nothing."

"The doctors are arranging for someone to examine her," Bill said. "A psychiatrist."

Charlie shook his head sceptically. "She's completely out of it." He looked sadly up at Monica and John. "I don't know she's going to know who you are, either."

"Yes she will," Christi said, who until now had been standing silently with her arm around Charlie. "If she's been asking for them, she will."

But Tara just gently shook her head and said, "She's not well at all."

There was a long and awkward pause. Monica breathed heavily, trying to pick herself up again. She was a little surprised to feel that her hand was joined tightly with John's, and had no recollection of who had reached for who. In the silence, he turned to face her, sighing heavily, but his thumb rubbed over hers, and Monica, pulling herself together, gave his hand a strong squeeze.

At last, when her heart and breathing had calmed, she stood up straight again and moved to face the people in the room.

"Well whether she recognises us or not, she needs our help," Monica said firmly. "The psychiatrist isn't going to be of any help to her."

"Honey, you don't know that," Monica's mother said. "They're _qualified _to deal with these things. They earn a living by it."

"No one's more qualified than we are," Monica said firmly. She looked her mother square in the eyes.

"Monica, we know you care," her father began ominously, "but you're no doctor."

"We can help her better than anyone," John said impatiently. He squeezed her hand.

Monica saw frustration building on her father's face and braced herself for an argument.

"This is -"

"What do you suggest?" Christi hastily interrupted. Her own face mirrored the determination Monica felt. John, surprised, turned slightly to meet his sister's eyes, and Monica saw the slightest smile sneak out on her lips.

Christi was their ally, and with her staunch support, Monica saw the way ahead light up clearly like a neon arrow. She felt as if the shackles had been released from her and John's ankles and hope flared inside of her as she saw the look on her face was also mirrored by Anne and Jack, who were also old friends of trauma and understood without any effort at all.

"We need to get her out of here," Monica said simply.

Monica could have predicted that her mother would argue, so it was no surprise to her when she did.

"Monica, she's in the _ICU_. They told us she stopped breathing. You can't just pack her up and take her home. She isn't a _hamster_!"

But Monica looked her straight in the eyes again and said firmly, "She'll die if we don't."

A harsh pause greeted her statement. Monica saw the heads of the drained Scully family members snap up to look at her. They were scared. She almost regretted her statement, but it was a reality they had to be aware of.

Nevertheless, Monica went on gently.

"The real problem here is that she's separated from us. She _needs _to be with us. I think that's very clear even going by what you just said about her asking for us. I mean, let's be honest. It is hard, we need to be together, and as long as she's stuck in this hospital we can't do that. And if she's in the ICU, it's going to be worse again than being in an ordinary room, and it's only a matter of time before she stops breathing again. And next time it will stick."

"You're right," John said quickly. Monica rubbed her thumb over his in thanks.

Mrs Scully still looked unsure. "And what happens if she stops breathing again when we take her home?"

"As long as we're with her, she won't."

"How can you be sure?" Bill asked.

"Because a similar thing happened to me yesterday. I was sick, it was very difficult, but John, Dana and Mulder were all there, and because of them I was able to get through it. If they _hadn't _been there it would have turned out differently. And the same goes for Dana. As long as we're separated from her she's going to continue to feel alone and every little thing is going to be infinitely more difficult for her to cope with. But if we're there for her, nearby ..."

Mrs Scully was nodding wearily. "You're right."

Monica looked around at her.

"They told us not to separate you," she said. "And it's clear Dana can't stand to be."

"You know the doctors will never release her," Jack said. "No matter how nicely you ask."

"They will if _she _asks. They can't hold her here against her will."

There was another pause.

"So what does that weigh up as?" Charlie asked. "Certain death against what we know will bring her comfort? It's no choice, really, is it?"

He looked around at his family members, silently asking them to come on board, to make the choice Dana needed them to make.

"No, it's not," Bill said, and he sat up and straight and nodded. Tara, too, nodded. Mrs Scully got to her feet.

"You'll have to see that she recognises you first," Christi said. "We can't take her unless she does."

Monica nodded. "We'll take care of that. You just find her doctor."

Still holding hands, Monica and John left the room.

XXX

Alone with Scully, Mulder continued to sit by her side and gently let his fingertips play with her red hair. He started at the top by her forehead and let them slide down, running the soft strands between his fingers, sweeping them back from her face to reveal more of her tear-stained cheeks. He loved her hair. Somehow, whenever they kissed, it was the first place his hands always went.

As the minutes ticked by and his heart began to automatically calm under the benefit of being alone in her sleeping presence, he began to notice other things. The first of these was that, as Anne had warned, Scully's vital signs were unstable. Her blood pressure was unnaturally high, as was her heart rate and her breathing, and all three were flying up and down of their own accord. The beeping was not a steady rhythm, but an unsteady fast and slow, and Mulder kept one eye on the screens, watching as the numbers gave an insight into the instability of Scully's mental state. For he was sure that was what was fueling it, even in her sleep.

The second thing was the state of her tear-stained cheeks. The disaster - whatever had happened - had only struck just over an hour ago, and yet her face was as damp and her eyes as red as if she had been crying for days. When Mulder combined that with the similar effect he had seen on the faces of all her family - even Bill - he was able to piece together that her family had brought her no comfort, and this fact had in return, brought her family no comfort. Part of him wondered then exactly what had happened to her, but he did not wonder hard, because he placed his trust firmly in Monica to figure that out. He had become well-acquainted with the streak of determination inside of Monica. He owed his life to that streak several times over, and now, when he saw it flash through her eyes, he was more than happy to place the investigation in her hands, to place his faith in her, so that he himself was free to sit beside Scully and indulge in the yearnings of his heart.

Then, suddenly, her heart rate increased again, beeping rapidly and Mulder's eyes snapped back to her face. His fingers were still embedded in her hair, and he leaned further over her.

"Scully?"

Her head tilted ever so slightly to the right, but moved back again just as quick. She was waking up.

"Scully, are you awake?"

He could hear the beeps from the machine coming closer together, and prayed that no doctors and nurses would come running in.

"Scully, are you with me?"

Her eyelids fluttered slightly, but they did not open. But when he saw her lips part a fraction, he knew she was coming back.

"Scully, do you hear me?" he said clearly. "It's Mulder."

To reassure her, Mulder leaned even further over, and, dodging the numerous plastic tubes, pressed his lips very gently to her forehead. Her forehead felt slightly sticky under his lips. Had she been sweating?

He pulled away again and was pleased that her heart rate had ever so slightly backed off. He smoothed her hair down with his hand, thumb rubbing the edge of her cheek.

"It's all going to be okay now, Scully. We're all back. You can wake up now. Wake up for me, Scully."

Her mouth closed again. Mulder, tipped by the success of his last kiss, leaned over and kissed her again. He lingered a little longer this time, catching her right between her eyebrows and giving her time enough that hopefully her brain could register the feel of his lips.

"We're back from the funeral," he explained. "Monica and John are right outside. You can open your eyes now, Scully. You're safe, it's going to be all right."

"Mul -"

Her head moved again, leaning into his hand as her lips parted and made a feeble, weak attempt at his name.

Mulder embedded his hand even further into her hair and used his other to hold her hand, which was lying atop the blankets.

"I'm right here," he said, squeezing her hand. "Right here."

"Mulder?" she asked weakly, eyes still closed.

"Uh-huh," he said. "The one you're scaring the crap out of right now."

"Mulder," she breathed.

"Try to open your eyes, Scully," he pleaded.

Mulder leaned over again and pressed his lips firmly to her wet cheek.

"I'm right here," he said. "Touching your face, kissing your forehead ..."

He kissed her on the forehead again.

"... I've come back."

At last her eyes opened, and Mulder was greeted with two clear blue, but heavily disoriented, eyes.

"Mulder..?"

"You got it," Mulder said, smiling to himself. "The Kooky Spooky, The Fox in Shock -"

Mulder was knocked back as Scully came flying up at him and attached herself to him like a wild-eyed koala. Her arms flew around his waist, ferocious in their grip, and her head nestled in as close as she could get to his chest, breathing hot, panicked air into the top of his shirt and tie.

Mulder enveloped her tight in his arms, and held her as close as he could, arms around the back of her hospital gown and lips to the top of her head. But as he did this, he was simultaneously worried by the increase of beeping from the machines by her bed, and he watched in slight alarm as her blood pressure soared.

"Scully, you can relax now, okay?" he said, speaking softly into her hair. "It's all going to be fine."

She whimpered into his chest as her arms tightened again around his waist. He didn't think it would be possible for her to grip so tight in such a condition, but somehow she did, and her arms dug into his sides so hard it was uncomfortable.

But Mulder put up with it, and kissed her hair again, rocking her from side to side and rubbing her back as she whimpered and cried, breathed into his neck and wet his skin.

"Just relax," he told her, eyeing the machines as his lips brushed her hair again. "Just calm down."

She was still panting for breath into his now-wet shirt, but he was glad that she heeded his words as she made a small effort to calm.

"Keep breathing," he said, kissing the side of her temple. He could not miss the way she was gasping for air, struggling to get her lungs under control and in a steady rhythm.

"Mulder ..."

"Scully," he returned, kissing her temple again.

"Where've you been?" she asked faintly, face still buried in his shirt.

Mulder felt a stab of panic. Where had he _been_? It was her who had asked him to go!

He tried to sound calm as he replied.

"Holly's funeral, remember? You asked us to go."

He waited for a reply, but none came. She continued to breathe into his shirt, to stain it with tears and grasp hard at his back with her hands and fingernails.

Panicked now, Mulder asked firmly, "Scully, do you remember? You wanted us to say goodbye for you. To Holly."

She pulled him tighter. His ribs ached now. He could feel her breathing increasing again, the puffs against him becoming more rapid.

"Scully?"

With great effort, Mulder pulled away from her, grabbed her arms and detached her from him. His heart jolted when he saw the wild, disoriented look in her eyes had not disappeared, but increased in its intensity. As gently as he could, yet without giving her the chance to latch on again, he put a hand either side of her face, pushed her hair back and looked straight into her eyes.

"Do you remember?"

"Mulder ..." she breathed, eyes flying wildly, looking at everything and focusing on nothing.

Her hands clawed at the sides of his waist, wanting to fly back at him, but he held her away, gripping her shoulders.

"Yeah, I'm Mulder," he reassured her. "Scully, do you remember anything? Do you know where you are?"

He waited hopefully as her eyes flew again around the room, but with a little more purpose this time. They landed on the bed they were both sitting on, on the wires and tubes attached to her hand, on the machines by the bed, and then to the window and door, through which she could see she was in the ICU.

The machines beeped even more, and Mulder's heart clenched further as her breathing became shallow and panicky. Her chest heaved.

"Scully, _relax_," he said, reaching for her again and running his fingers through her hair.

Her eyes looked up at him accusingly.

"What am I doing here?" she asked frantically. "Mulder, what am I -"

"Breathe slowly," Mulder interrupted. He put his hands firmly on her shoulders again. "Just calm down."

But she didn't.

"Where's Monica?" she asked, eyes flying again around the room and the corridor outside. "Mulder, where is she?! Where's _John_?!"

"They're just outside," he said, squeezing her shoulders hard.

It was as if she hadn't heard him. Her eyes widened further with an intense panic.

"What happened to her?" she shouted accusingly. "MULDER, WHAT HAPPENED TO HER?!"

"She's _fine_!" Mulder said loudly, grasping her shoulders to prevent her from leaping up to launch a search. "She's just out of sight, that's all. She's just down the corridor."

"Monica ..."

She continued to cast her eyes around, searching with increased paranoia and terror that something had happened, as if Mulder was lying to her. Mulder thought fleetingly of leaving to go get Monica and John, except he didn't want to chance leaving Scully alone. In her altered state, there was no telling what she would do.

"Just calm down," he pleaded.

As he frantically tried to figure what to do, he saw the very people Scully needed walk into his line of vision. They were passing the window, fingertips joined, when they both came to an abrupt halt and stared directly at the panicking Scully Mulder was holding down. Mulder saw both their eyes widen.

"Monica," Scully breathed erratically, chest heaving with heavy relief.

Monica paused for a second or two to gather herself together, and then Mulder felt immense relief as he watched her take a deep breath and the sparkle of determination came to her eyes again, drowning out her shock. And as the two of them made their way to the door, Mulder felt that at that moment, there was no one in the world he would rather see.

XXX

Monica walked calmly into the room. She was careful to not hurry, to give no indication that she herself was worried. She knew from experience that what Scully needed was someone who was strong and in control, and if she showed any indication that she was not, Scully would potentially flip out and lose her grip altogether. And then it would be game over.

She approached the opposite side of the bed to Mulder, John following behind, and then sat herself on the edge of the mattress. Scully was still being held back by Mulder, his hands on her shoulders, and hers on the waist of his pants. But her eyes were utterly delirious and for a moment she just sat there, struggling to focus on Monica, the chest of her light blue hospital gown heaving up and down in shock.

"Hey ..." Monica said kindly, smiling at her friend. She reached over and gently put her hand to Scully's bare elbow, squeezing reassuringly.

And then a spark shot through Scully's blue eyes, as though her mind had finally made a connection and she halted breathing as she launched herself at Monica. Monica caught her and put her arms around her as Scully burrowed fiercely into her torso. Monica had unbuttoned her heavy black woollen coat upon entering the hospital, and now Scully put her hands inside it, sliding her arms around Monica's waist and burying her head in between her neck and shoulder. She whimpered, and though she did not cry, she did breathe rapidly into Monica's blouse with short bursts of hot, panic-induced air.

"It's okay," Monica said, gripping Scully tighter and pulling her further towards her. "It's all right. We're all here."

Scully did not respond, but only held onto Monica for dear life, fingers clutching hard into her back and her chest and back heaving as her breathing continued in its uncontrolled rhythm.

Monica held her tight while she rocked her. Glancing up to John, she saw him standing beside the bed and frowning with worry at the screens charting Scully's vital signs. He gave Monica a significant look before Monica turned her attention to Mulder.

Mulder was watching Monica hug Scully, but it bothered Monica no end that he had tears in his eyes. His tears betrayed his fear, and she knew that it was this which had caused Scully to latch onto herself instead of Mulder. Scully needed someone strong to help her, and nothing would trip her up like seeing such obvious fear in Mulder's eyes. Monica momentarily pulled a hand away from Scully's back and dug in the pocket of her coat for tissues. With a significant look at Mulder, she handed them to him. The look asked him to pull himself together, and she knew he understood when he nodded and took the tissues from her hand.

"It's okay," Monica whispered to Scully, and she continued to cling tight. Monica gave her a quick kiss on the top of her head before she let her eyes drift past Mulder to the corridor outside. Their families had appeared there on the other side of the window. Significant in the crowd were Mrs Scully, who had her arms crossed against her chest; Anne, who had her arm around her shoulders, and Charlie, who at that moment appeared in the open doorway with a grey-haired doctor. He watched them with professional curiosity, and remained in the doorway as Monica continued her efforts to calm Scully.

"It's okay," Monica said yet again.

Scully's frame was so small that Monica almost felt like she was holding a distressed child.

"We're all here ..."

At that point Monica noticed that the back of Scully's gown was hanging open, exposing her to everyone watching, and Monica hastily pulled the sides together and held them there with one of her hands. John then slipped off his black trench coat, and with enormous delicacy, spread it around Scully's back and shoulders. Monica momentarily let go of her to help him arrange it and tuck it in and then pulled the whimpering Scully close again. Her hair was beginning to tickle Monica's neck.

"Dana, you have nothing to be afraid of, okay?" Monica assured her, smoothing back the offending strands. "We're all back. None of us is going anywhere. I'm here, John's here, Mulder's here ..."

As she talked, Monica reached out for John's hand, indicating for him to touch Scully so she could sense his presence. John settled on the bed behind her and put one of his hands on her back. She only needed to glance at Mulder before he did the same, putting his hand on one of Scully's shoulders and rubbing gently. Monica was relieved that he had himself under control again.

"We're all touching you," Monica said. "Can you feel us touching you?"

The gasping of her lungs had begun to subside, her chest and back no longer arching in desperation for air, and now she was just burrowing quietly for comfort. Some of the ferociousness of her grip had gone, too. The fingernails Monica had felt piercing into her lower back were gone, and replaced now by Scully's more sensitive hands.

"We're here, okay?" Monica said, when Scully remained silent. "Can you feel us holding you?"

There was the faintest whisper, but Monica couldn't catch it.

"I didn't catch that," Monica told her gently.

In response, Scully merely heaved a long, slow sigh. The tension went from her back, and she relaxed, resting her forehead on Monica's shoulder.

To Monica, that was answer enough, and she glanced back to the monitors for confirmation that Scully's vitals had calmed.

They had. Only a little, but they had. The doctor stepped in a little from the doorway and he studied them, too.

"Just relax," Monica encouraged her. She rubbed her hands up and down Scully's back as she held her close.

"Mulder ..." Scully breathed.

"Right here," Mulder replied, voice strong again, and he gave her shoulder a firm squeeze. "I'm right next to you, Scully."

She relaxed further, sighing again into Monica's shoulder.

"We're all here," Monica repeated.

"Monica ..." she breathed.

"That's me. I'm holding you."

It made her worry slightly and she wondered exactly how much of a grip Scully had on her sanity. For while Monica was enormously comforted that she seemed to recognise them and was relaxing in their presence, it was of huge concern that she appeared to still be slightly delirious, still struggling to get a grip on things. But she seemed to be responding to being hugged, and so Monica, with the help of John and Mulder, continued to hug her close, to rub her shoulders and back, to repeat over and over that they were there with her. And very slowly, her vital signs calmed until they were back within shouting distance of their normal vicinity, and her whimpering eased until she was silent, just drawing in the comfort like a sponge.

Monica happily let her stay leaning against her for these several long minutes, and then when she had finally calmed, decided it was time to find out exactly what they were dealing with.

"Dana," Monica started, with the gentlest tone she owned, "we'll hold you for as long as you need, okay? But when you're ready, when you think you can cope, I need you to answer some questions for me."

Scully remained silent, forehead bowed on Monica's shoulder.

"Scully, did you hear her?" Mulder asked gently, rubbing her shoulder.

"Yeah," Scully whispered, speaking into Monica's blouse.

But she made no move to sit up and so the three of them continued to comfort her.

"Take your time," John said, rubbing her back.

"As long as you need," Monica repeated, and she tightened her grip again around Scully's back.

They remained that way for another few minutes: the three of them comforting her, the doctor observing them with silent interest, and their relatives watching and listening through the window in the wall. Then, at last, Monica felt Scully take a deep breath and then pull away a little. She sat back a few inches and Monica let her arms fall away so that she was only gripping the sides of her friend's waist. Scully hovered there a moment, eyes lowered, taking deep breaths to calm herself. Mulder edged a little closer to her and put a strong arm around her shoulders. Then Scully looked around, searching for John, and when she found him behind her she shifted back a little on the bed so he was on her other side and she was sitting between Mulder and John, each of whom had an arm around her, and facing Monica, who wrapped John's coat further around her front and then gently took her hands in her own.

"Are you ready?" Monica asked, giving her hands a squeeze.

Scully took another deep breath, and then bravely raised her scared eyes to meet Monica's.

"Okay," Monica said, as her brain tried to shuffle her many questions into a logical order. "Stop me anytime if it becomes too hard."

She waited until her friend gave the slightest nod. Monica saw the fear swimming in her eyes. The delirium had also not entirely subsided.

"Say our names."

Monica was sure she knew who they were, but it was essential to check if she was going to pinpoint the state of her friend's mind.

Monica saw relief shimmer in her friend's eyes at the easiness of the question. Her eyes met Monica's, and she looked to each of them as she repeated their names, voice shaking slightly.

"Monica Reyes, Fox Mulder, John Doggett."

"Right," Monica said, feeling a huge wave of relief. She squeezed her friend's hands and Scully gripped hers a little tighter in return.

"Do you remember what happened?" Monica asked.

Scully paused this time. She took a deep breath to steady herself, and then looked down at the blankets, away from Monica's eyes and then desperately around the room as she struggled, as if hoping the answer would be scribbled on one of the walls.

"Take it easy," Mulder said, watching her closely.

John tightened his arm. "Just anything you might remember. Anything at all."

Scully looked sideways at him and then hesitantly back up to Monica.

"I think ..." She paused to take a deep breath. "I think I was on the floor?"

"You fainted," Monica said, nodding. "You hyperventilated while talking about Holly and went into respiratory arrest. Charlie gave you CPR until the doctors arrived and resuscitated you."

She took the news better than Monica could have hoped. Her blue eyes were still for a moment, locked onto Monica's as she absorbed the news, and then she nodded to herself, as though she had been expecting something like that.

"That was over an hour ago," Monica went on. "Do you remember any of what's happened since?"

Monica gripped her hands tighter in anticipation that she would struggle, and she was right. Scully fidgeted, shifted on the bed, and her eyes began to speed around the room again, brain trying to search for an answer that was eluding it, and when it failed, sunk her into panic.

"Hey, we're right here," Mulder said smoothly, pulling her closer to him. "It's okay."

He pressed a kiss to her temple. She closed her eyes for a second, soaking up his comfort.

"Can you remember?" John asked gently, once she had opened her eyes again.

"It's okay if you can't," Monica added, squeezing her hands again.

"Well ..." Scully said slowly, looking up into Monica's eyes with hesitation. "I must've been moved here. I think ... there were doctors. Someone might've been holding my hand."

"Right," Monica said encouragingly. "Do you know who that was, holding your hand?"

"My mom?"

Over Scully's shoulder, Monica saw Mrs Scully's eyes were locked onto her daughter. All of them - especially the doctor - had been watching and listening intently all along, but now Mrs Scully straightened up, hoping, hoping ...

"Is that a guess or do you remember?" John asked.

"I remember her ring, digging into my hand," Scully said, with sudden certainty. "I think ... she might've been saying my name."

Monica saw Mrs Scully relax slightly. Anne rubbed her back and smiled a little.

"There was someone else with you, too," Monica said. "Do you know who that was?"

Scully automatically turned to look over her shoulder, now knowing her family were behind her, but Monica reached up and gently put a hand to the side of her face, steering her back to lock eyes with her again.

"Don't look at them. I need you to remember."

Monica saw the danger signs quickly when Scully's breathing began to change and her eyes became nervous again.

"All right," she said gently. "It's okay."

"I'd be guessing," Scully admitted. She sighed a little and looked down at the bed. "I can't recall ... seeing anyone." She shook her head confusedly. "I don't know."

"It was Charlie," John said, giving her a squeeze around her waist to reassure her it was okay.

"Can you point him out now?" Monica asked, looking over Scully's shoulder to where Charlie stood next to Bill.

Scully looked over her shoulder, but the glance was quick as she found the pairs of eyes too many to face. She turned back to Monica and her shoulders seemed to tremble at the pressure coming from behind.

Mulder tightened his arm and Monica found Scully tightening her grip on her hands. Monica squeezed them in response.

"Between Bill and Tara," Scully said softly. Her voice shook.

"Right. And do you know who those other people are?"

Scully nodded, but didn't look around again as she answered, voice still soft.

"They're my mom, your parents, John's family ... and a doctor."

Monica paused, then, choosing to give Scully a minute to recover from the realisation there were so many people watching her. Monica saw tears appear in Scully's eyes, unable to cope with the pressure, and the next second she had pulled a hand away from Monica's and was wiping her eyes and sniffing.

"It's okay," Monica said, putting her hand back on Scully's shoulder and shifting a little closer. "We'll stop for a minute, okay?"

She sniffed again and lowered her head a little, wiping at her eyes.

"Do you need them to leave?" John asked.

They waited for an answer, but Scully suddenly dissolved into tears and fell automatically in the direction of Mulder.

"Mulder," she whispered.

Mulder wrapped his arms firm around Scully's body and held her close against his chest, head tucked under his chin. He kissed her hair and rocked her slightly, back and forth.

Monica's left hand was still being held tight by Scully, and Monica squeezed her fingers as she looked over Scully's shoulder to their relatives. Charlie mouthed a question and pointed up the corridor. Did she want them to leave?

Monica shook her head firmly. There was no way she wanted any of the Scullys to leave. They needed to be here, needed to see it and understand it. She wanted them to watch and learn, just as she did for her own parents and for John's family, for while they were obviously not related, they were still all in this mess together, and what happened to Scully could happen to any of them. They had to learn this, and as long as Scully could stand them being present, Monica was keen for them to watch.

She did not cry for long, and in Mulder's arms she quickly calmed. Mulder pulled out the tissues that he had used to wipe his own eyes and with one hand, raised them wipe hers. She sniffed again, he kissed her hair again, and then she emitted a long sigh and relaxed in his arms, leaning sideways against his chest.

"Is there more?" Scully asked, peering up at Monica.

"Only a little," Monica said.

"Keep going," Scully instructed her, with an air of wanting to get it over with while she still had the strength.

Monica did go on, but she made sure she was extra gentle in her asking. John gave her a hesitant look, plainly wondering whether Scully was up for it.

"Can you recall the past few days?" Monica asked.

"Yes," she replied, with no enthusiasm for recalling any of the horrible things they had had to endure.

"What happened?" Monica asked softly. She did not want to torture her friend, but she had to know. She had to check.

She sped through the details, in a hurry to get it over with. "We came back from Vancouver, we separated for the night, and have been staying at John's ever since. I fainted outside the FBI, you collapsed at Follmer's funeral, the media ..." she hesitated as her blue eyes gave Monica an apologetic look "... attacked you this morning."

Monica nodded and promptly forced the memory from her mind.

"And you remember everything that happened on the mountain? Just yes or no, you don't have to tell me in detail."

Her voice was soft. "Yes."

"Okay then," Monica said, squeezing her hand. She wanted to hug her again, but left that to Mulder as he kissed her hair again and continued to hold her close to him. Scully closed her eyes. John rubbed her shoulder supportively, grateful she had made it through their questioning without having a complete breakdown.

Monica looked up to John, engaging him in a silent conversation as to whether he still felt they could take Scully home. He nodded at her, and if anything, looked even more certain than before. Monica nodded back. She, too, felt more certain than before, because now they had seen how much Scully needed their presence and support, their hugs and kisses, there was no way she felt she could leave her in the ICU and go on home as the hospital would demand them to under their rules.

She raised her eyes to Scully's family, silently asking them the same thing, hoping they would understand without her having to walk out and ask.

Thankfully, Bill did. He nodded curtly, and he too, looked more certain than before. Mrs Scully looked around at him, wondering what they were communicating about, and Bill told her softly and then Mrs Scully threw Monica and John an agreeable nod.

"All right, I need you to listen to me carefully, okay, Dana?"

"I'm listening," Scully replied, opening her eyes again. She didn't move from her position of being hugged sideways by Mulder.

"I know you need to get out of here, but the doctors aren't in a position to release you and they're not going to do it just on my request." Monica paused. "I need you to ask yourself."

Scully emerged from Mulder's arms with renewed interest in her eyes. Mulder let go of her and his arms fell to circle her waist. Monica was glad that Mulder showed no sign of objecting. Having not been in the room with everyone else when they decided, he had not known of the plan, but had probably deduced it simply from Monica's questioning.

"We'll take you back to John's, you'll stay with us, and we'll look after you ourselves."

Scully's face registered only surprise. She was looking at them as though she didn't dare believe her ears.

"Would you like that?" Mulder asked.

"Absolutely," she replied softly.

Rays of hope lit up her eyes.

"You'd need to be honest with us, though," John said firmly. "No more lies."

She looked sideways at him, took in his firm expression, and then nodded.

"No more lies," she agreed.

"Okay then," Monica said, squeezing her hand.

There was a pause. Scully locked her eyes onto Monica, as though drawing in strength from her, then she took a deep breath and steadied herself.

"The doc's right behind you," John said unnecessarily.

Scully nodded at him, but took her time, gathering the nerve to face everyone again. She took another deep breath, strengthened her grip on Monica's hand, and then turned a little on the bed. The expression she greeted the doctor with was the same FBI agent mask that Monica had seen undo criminal after criminal in their work. It left no room for argument.

It was also a look Monica had not seen on her face for an entire month.

"I'm leaving," she said firmly.

The doctor nodded, having fully expected the statement. Monica wondered how tough they were going to make it for them, and was relieved when the voice the doctor used was an attempt at understanding and not brutal as part of her had feared.

"Have you considered your injury?"

Scully hesitated.

"It's only a bruise," Monica said, squeezing Scully's hand and responding for her. "You can adjust the catheter so she can wear it under her clothes and we can come back for whatever tests you need to run in the morning."

"Look, I understand how you feel, but as touching as this is -"

"I'm leaving," Scully interrupted. Her voice was hard and her eyes even harder.

The doctor's own expression toughened in response. A horrible feeling lodged itself in Monica's chest - a feeling they were in for a fight.

"Look," Mulder said, before the doctor had a chance to speak, "we appreciate your concern, but at the end of the day, the fact is that the root cause of all this _is _what we've been through. The only stabilising influence we have right now is each other's presence, and you can choose to understand that or reject it as you please. But Scully is a doctor, she has the power to sign herself out against medical advice, and I think she's made her wishes quite clear."

The doctor opened his mouth again, but John interrupted.

"We'll sign whatever documents and releases of legal responsibility that you need. Just fix her up as you need to, schedule the damn scans and grab us a pen."

The doctor again opened his mouth to speak, but Monica could see his resistance beginning to weaken and she pounced, cutting him off.

"And don't keep us waiting," she threatened. "Or else we might find a use for our fame."

They locked eyes, the doctor's eyes boring into hers and Monica equalling them. She gave him everything in her look. She knew they held all the trump cards, not only that it was Scully's right to leave, but that their fame gave them an extra edge that could make things very unpleasant for the hospital if any of them dared to utter a word of criticism in front of their adoring cameras. They had the power to destroy them, and while it was not a power Monica planned on using, she had no qualms about using it as leverage to get Scully out of there.

She felt everyone in the room, and outside in the corridor, watching the two of them locked in a silent battle of wills.

Eventually the doctor sighed with frustration.

"If you'll excuse me a moment."

He turned and walked out of the room, and out of sight.

John's face immediately split into a smile as he looked at her with admiration.

"Nice," he said.

Monica couldn't help smiling at him in return.

Their relatives wandered into the room, Christi and Charlie at the head of the pack. Both of them were grinning.

"Now I know why we don't argue with you," Charlie said.

"I think you pissed him off, though," Christi said. She was struggling to hold in her grin. Her blue eyes were twinkling mischievously.

"Good," John said swiftly.

There were smiles all around until Scully suddenly turned her head away, showing them her back again. Monica saw tears were in her eyes and she quickly held up her hand to the group creeping into the room, asking them to stop. She knew it was the pressure of having such an audience that was forcing Scully to retreat, and felt a stab of guilt that they hadn't foreseen the problem.

"Come here," Monica said softly, and she caught Scully as she began to quiver and let her tears slip out.

Scully leaned her head against Monica's shoulder again, and Monica enveloped her in her arms.

Both Mulder and John stopped smiling, and their eyes became sad again as they watched Scully struggling to pull herself back from the brink. In the doorway, Charlie's face had also fallen and Christi put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. A heaviness settled over the room as Monica hugged Scully.

But as she did hug Scully, and in between the "It's okay"s and the "We're here"s that her voice automatically fed her, Monica thought of the crevice that had snapped the ground between Scully and her family. It was definitely not something she wanted to see, and was keen to bring them together again, to help Scully accept their presence and not see them as a threat or something to make her uncomfortable.

So after a minute or two, when Scully had begun to calm again, when her crying had eased as she was just soaking up the comfort from Monica, Mulder and John, who were all touching her and doing their best to relax her, Monica decided she had to take a risk.

"Dana, I'd like your mom to sit with us," Monica said softly. "Just your mom. Would that be okay?"

Monica saw the hope in Mulder's eyes and could tell that this had been bothering him as well. Mrs Scully's eyes were shining with unshed tears.

Monica heard and felt Scully take a deep breath.

She heard a faint "Yes".

Mrs Scully hadn't heard the response, and it took Mulder to nod at her and beckon her in before she moved. Monica was glad to see that both the Scullys and the Doggetts were apparently fast learners, because Anne stopped her before she had reached the door and whispered something to her, and then Mrs Scully pulled out a tissue and wiped her eyes. And by the time she had stuffed the tissues back into her coat pocket and appeared in the doorway, she had gone from looking like an upset woman to a woman who was completely in control again. She strolled into the room with confidence and looked down at her daughter fondly, with no more fear than if Scully were four years old again and was crying to her over a cut on her knee.

"Sit down here," John said, and pulled over the chair to beside the bed.

Mrs Scully sat down in the chair. Monica felt Scully tense slightly in her arms. But it was short-lived.

Mrs Scully reached up a hand and gently laid it upon her daughter's shoulder, and Monica felt her tension evaporate as quickly as it had come.

"It's okay, Dana," Mrs Scully said, with a strong and even voice.

Still Monica felt Scully relax further.

"Don't be embarrassed," she continued.

And then Scully was easing out of Monica's arms, she sat up again and looked at her mother. For a moment, Scully simply looked at her, wet-eyed and shaking slightly, and Monica found it hard to tell what was going through her head. The fact that she had not recognised them earlier sprung back into her mind, and to Monica it almost looked like her mind was repairing the broken connections.

Then her expression softened another level, as though Scully remembered everything, and Scully gave a weak smile, her eyes glittering.

"Mom ..."

She reached down for her mother and the two hugged. John got up from his spot on the bed and offered it to Mrs Scully, to give her a better position rather than reaching up for her daughter, and the two separated for a brief moment while Mrs Scully shifted to take his spot. Then Scully sighed, reached for her mother again, and the two were hugging fiercely, Scully buried in her mother's shoulder. Mrs Scully hugged her, smiling to herself as she pulled John's coat further around Scully, bundling her up in it and then simply rocking her and offering her all the comfort she wanted.

Monica smiled. She saw Mulder was also smiling, enormously relieved, and John as well, who had walked around to where Christi was standing in the doorway.

"I need your help," John said to Christi.

"Sure," she replied, without a thought.

"If we give you directions, would you be able to go to her apartment, pick her up some clothes?"

Monica had almost forgotten about that. The black suit she had worn upon admission was not appropriate. The pants, for one thing, were too tight to allow room for the medical necessities that would have to go underneath and none of the outfit was comfortable wear for a sick person to curl up in.

"Of course," Christi answered.

Tara stepped into the room. "We can do that ..."

"No," Monica said quickly. "We need you to stay here."

There was no way she wanted any of Scully's family leaving the hospital. Too much was at stake and they could not afford to make mistakes. And Monica knew Christi was completely trustworthy. She had proved that several times already.

"I'll come with you," Anne said, stepping into the room.

"Something baggy, right?" Christi said, looking to Monica and Mulder.

"And warm," Mulder added.

"I'll walk you to the car, show you on the map," John said.

Monica felt unease flood through her and she shot John a worried look.

"Make it fast," she warned.

He nodded. "Be back in a blink of an eye."

"You'll need a key," Charlie warned.

Mrs Scully loosened one hand from her daughter's back and fished her keys out of her pocket. She sorted through them for a second and then held one up for Anne to take.

Anne, Christi and John disappeared from the room and began to hurry down the corridor.

Monica relaxed. Scully was calm in her mother's arms and as Monica glanced up at the monitors, she was satisfied to see that all the essentials were under control again. Her heart rate was steady, her blood pressure reasonable, and it only served to reassure her that the decision they were making was absolutely correct. Whether the doctors chose to understand it or not, they were _going _to take Scully home.

XXX

Just over half an hour later, things were arranged. Scully had signed the legal documents acknowledging she was being released against medical advice, and a separate doctor had come and gone, too, changing over her catheter and taping it to her thigh so she could wear it under her clothes.

This latter event had been a temporary source of confusion for Monica, because when the doctor had wanted to take Scully behind the curtain to do the procedure, Scully nearly fell apart. At first, Monica, Mulder and John all thought this was just stress over her being alone, and when the doctor went to pull the curtain around and Scully looked up at them from her position on the bed with her fearful blue eyes, they were not worried.

"I'll sit with you," Mulder volunteered, and started forward for the bed from where they had been standing back against the wall, giving the doctor room to pull the curtain around.

But Scully's eyes only became more stress-filled and teary, and her shoulders stiffened. She looked away.

Mulder stopped, only one step forward from Monica and John.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

Her chest began its now familiar heaving with stress, and she locked eyes with the mattress.

"I ..."

She tried to talk, but drifted off and instead her eyes came back up to meet Monica's. Her eyes were wet and pleading.

"You want Monica to sit with you?" John asked, trying to make sense of the way Scully was staring at her.

Scully didn't reply, and only looked away again, embarrassed. Monica knew her well enough to take this as an affirmative.

"It's okay, I can do that," Monica said lightly, and went to sit with her on the bed.

It was a quick changeover. Monica held her hand as Scully lay on the bed, legs open as the doctor worked, hospital gown pulled up to the top of her pubic hair. Monica preserved Scully's dignity by locking eyes with her friend and paying no attention to what was happening below, but during those few minutes she did wonder what the fuss was about in her not wanting it to be Mulder comforting her. Monica's best guess was that it could only be gender related, and that perhaps in Scully's conservative nature she was comfortable with making love with Mulder, but not in lying there with her legs spread open wide, and too mentally weak to defend herself against anything he might throw her way. Perhaps, Monica thought, Scully was again clinging to her simply because she found it helpful to draw on her strength and confidence, or because Scully already knew from the birth of William in Democrat Hot Springs that Monica could be trusted with these things ...

It was fifteen minutes later, when Anne and Christi arrived with a bag of clothes, that Monica discovered the real reason and Mulder's nerves were put at ease.

Again, Scully's body language indicated to them that she wanted it to be Monica who helped her change. Monica was glad that Mulder took this well, and wasn't immature enough to get too possessive about who helped her. She could tell, though, that he was wondering why. But when Mrs Scully offered to help as well, and Scully froze as she had with Mulder earlier, Monica frowned.

"Dana, what's the matter?" she asked, sitting beside Scully on the bed and looping an arm warmly around her shoulders.

"I don't know," Scully said weakly, her eyes brimming with tears as she hung her head. "I just ..."

She trailed off.

"Your mom won't hurt you," Monica said, holding her close. "Mulder won't hurt you. We all love you."

"I know," Scully said, looking at her and nodding. "I know."

But her position on the matter didn't waver, and she nervously raised her eyes to her mom.

"It's okay, Dana," Mrs Scully said promptly. She closed the gap between them and pressed a kiss to Scully's cheek. "Whatever it is, it's okay."

Monica could tell that Mrs Scully had no more idea than anyone else, and was putting it down to another branch on the tree of Scully's panic-induced irrational behaviour. Scully was struggling to recover from what had happened to her, and she was subsequently extremely clingy and teary. And if the worst consequence of this was that she wanted Monica to help her dress instead of her mother or Mulder, then that was fine by them.

"We'll wait on the other side of the curtain, okay?"

Mrs Scully pressed another firm kiss on her daughter's cheek, ran a hand down the side of her hair, and then left and pulled the curtain back around, leaving Monica alone with Scully and the bag of clothes that Anne and Christi had fetched from Scully's apartment. Monica pulled the clothes out of the bag and sat them on the bed beside them. The outfit was the gear Scully used to exercise, for neighbourhood jogging and the occasional trips to the FBI gym. It contained loose, navy blue pants, a matching sports jacket, a warm white top to go underneath, running shoes, and a practical bra and panties.

"Stand up a sec'," Monica instructed.

Scully slowly eased herself off the bed and Monica took both her arms to help her steady herself. She was enormously weak-legged - a phenomenon Monica was familiar with from her own collapse after Follmer's funeral - and Monica held onto her arms for a few seconds until Scully nodded that she was okay. Then Monica slid John's coat from her, lying it on the bed, and walking around to Scully's back, undid the knots of her hospital gown and pulled that off her, too, so she was naked by the bed.

Then Monica saw it: the huge, dark, ugly bruise spread across Scully's abdomen. She stopped, unable to stop herself from staring at the ghastly mark, and a pain erupted in her own stomach like she had been stabbed with a knife.

"Oh, Dana ..." Monica began, as a wave of sympathy overtook her.

She knew now why Scully had chosen her as her helper, and had been so afraid of Mulder and her mother. Because Scully loved Mulder to such an extent that she wanted to protect him at all costs from seeing the bruise. She knew she was not strong enough to deal with his guilt or the pain it might bring him, and the case would be similar for her mother, who would be horrified. The realisation forced Monica to resume her look of confidence, and she quickly wiped the shock from her own face and reached out to comfort Scully, who was standing before her, every wall knocked down, tears rolling silently down her cheeks.

"It's okay, all right?" she said, taking Scully naked into her arms, as she had not so long ago on the floor of John's kitchen, the last time the topic had cropped up.

"It's _nothing _to worry about," Monica emphasised.

Scully leaned her head against Monica's chest and Monica held her. She could feel her friend's breathing was out of whack again, as her back moved irregularly under Monica's hands.

"Watch your breathing," Monica said quietly.

Scully nodded against her chest. One hand held onto Monica's waist.

A few moments passed in entire silence, Monica holding Scully while she gathered her strength again, and their friends and relatives waiting on the other side of the curtain.

"You two okay?" came John's voice.

"Mulder, are you still there?" Monica asked.

"I'm here," he said.

Scully pulled back, wiping her eyes.

"Can you tell her you're okay with this bruise?"

When he talked back, Monica could hear him smiling with relief.

"Scully I'm _totally _okay with the bruise," Mulder said. "We already talked this out. Let's not worry about it anymore, okay?"

The statement was so sincere that Scully smiled, even as she was still wiping away tears from her cheeks.

Monica smiled with her, holding one of her hands and squeezing it.

"Scully?" Mulder said, when the women remained silent.

"Get in here, Mulder," Monica said, making the decision for them and to stop the nonsense right there.

Mulder slipped around the curtain and emerged at the bed head with a calm look on his face. Still smiling slightly, Scully turned to face him. She had one hand on the bed to support herself, and too weak to go to him, Mulder came to her. He crossed the space between them, and without even concerning himself with looking at the bruise, he put his hands on her bare shoulders and looked down into her eyes.

"I _love _you," he said simply.

There was a pause. He moved one of his hands to cup the side of her face, fingertips lodging themselves back in her hair.

"All right?"

Scully simply looked at him for one long moment, and then she gave him the tiniest smile.

"Yes," she said softly.

"You're sure?" he said, peering into her eyes and searching for confirmation that this was the last he would hear of the damned bruise.

"Yes," she replied. "Definitely."

"Good."

And then he kissed her, lightly brushing her lips with his before pulling away again.

"Now let's get you dressed, okay?"

Monica smiled to herself as his eyes swept up and down her naked body. Appreciation for the sight was plain on his face. His eyes absorbed her several times, lingering on her breasts, and despite his statement, he made no move to release her from his arms or reach for the clothes on the bed. His smile began to widen.

"Don't move, Mulder," Monica advised jokingly. "If you do I'll be forced to arrest you for public lewdness."

Mulder looked up at her and Scully turned around. It was as if they had forgotten Monica was standing right there with them. They were both smiling and Mulder pulled Scully further toward him, nestling her against his chest.

Monica managed to hold in her laughter, but her grin got out anyway. It was a relief to be able to joke after so many days and weeks of being miserable, and the moment swamped all three of them.

"Or shall I go?" she offered, still grinning.

"Stay right there, Monica," Mrs Scully joked through the curtain. Then she added, "Fox, this is _not _the time to seduce my daughter."

Scully blushed, and leaned her head against Mulder's chest. She was almost laughing in disbelief.

Then came Charlie's voice: "Oh, Mom, don't be mean, they probably haven't done it for weeks." He called through, "Dana, go right ahead, it doesn't bother me. Just make sure he calls you 'Dana', all right? Because if he starts shouting 'Scully' and drags all of us into the bed with you I might raise one or two objections."

"Yeah, keep it down, Mulder!" John called teasingly.

"Or spring it up if you like," Christi said, adding her voice to the throng of laughter. "I can duck downstairs and grab you a camera if you want to make your own video."

"You could sell it for _millions_," Jack added.

Scully turned her face further into Mulder's shirt. She was laughing to herself.

"She's beet red," Monica said, grinning and watching Scully go redder and redder, with the aid of her pale skin.

"Yeah?" John asked, voice full of laughter. "Where?"

Someone let out a loud wolf-whistle and everyone split into laughter.

Monica laughed, and Scully cringed further, but smiled as she did.

"It's okay," Monica said, pulling back her grin and trying to turn serious. She stepped toward her and put a hand on her shoulder. "Come on, let's get you dressed."

Mulder looked caught between being embarrassed and enjoying the humour relief himself, but he had thoroughly lost the thread he had been on. He reached clumsily for the neat pile of clothes resting on the bed and blindly picked up the topmost item, which happened to be the white bra. Scully stood between them, looking stunning as she smiled through her tears and red face, and Mulder unravelled the bra and held it with one cup in each hand.

And then he hesitated.

"Uh ..."

He turned it around 180 degrees.

Scully frowned at his confusion. "Mulder?"

And Monica burst out laughing.

Mulder might have had years of experience in removing bras, but he had obviously never put one back on and wasn't a hundred percent sure how to go about it. He glanced at Monica laughing at him, and then cleared his throat and walked around Scully to hand the bra to Monica. Monica took it in her hand as he passed, heading for the break in the curtains, too embarrassed to speak.

Scully held herself together until he had disappeared back to the other side, and then she burst into silent giggles, sitting on the edge of the mattress and looking up at Monica, sharing the joke only women could appreciate. It only served to start off Monica again, who continued the giggling fit that had barely subsided.

"Oh, it feels _good _to laugh," they heard Anne say.

"It certainly does," Mrs Scully responded. "It's been a long, long while."

* * *

_This last scene took a very, very different turn from where I had it mapped out to go! As I write this I'm still not sure, but think it's probably good to leave it be and let the poor people have their moment of laughter, break up the pain a little. What do you think? Does it work for you?_

_The DRR is creeping closer. This may seem like an absolutely bonkers place to put it, but it's where it lands! I hope to get to it in the next chapter, but it's hard to tell at the rate this thing blows out. I can't believe I'm around 170,000 words, it's just ridiculous! And I haven't even gotten Monica & John to kiss yet, and I'm not even a third of the way through the story! This is INSANE! But nevertheless, next chapter, the one after at the latest. I have a decision to make about that, too - about how passionate D & R would likely be in a relationship at this stage. I'm inclined to think it could get passionate quite easily, as opposed to M & S's tender and loving approach, and I think that not only because of Monica's obvious history (which quite plainly states her style), but also because of the enormous pressure they're both under I think they'd find it a huge comfort - unlike Scully, who doesn't have anything further from her mind. If anyone has a preference either way I'd like to hear it. I'd hate to go one way or the other and have my lovely readers then think, "No way would they do that", or whatever. But hey - DRR! Never thought I'd get here! (I suppose I shouldn't speak too soon, though, haven't written it yet)_


	16. Chapter 16

_I feel as if everything is finally coming together, like all the seeds I've been sowing for the last 15 chapters have finally shot up out the ground are about to grow into a lovely meadow._

_This chapter carries a language warning. _

* * *

It was near evening by the time they wheeled Scully's chair out into the parking lot. Depressing grey clouds held the whole city in a dreary shadow, and already the streetlights were on, glowing feebly in lines along the parking spaces and up the neighbouring streets and lanes. A cold breeze - the remnants of the earlier storm - wafted through the few trees surrounding the hospital, and the asphalt glistened from recent showers. As Monica wheeled Scully's chair out through the automatic doors into the open air, the lingering smell of rain shot into her nostrils. But it was a fresh smell, a scent of new life and energy, and it invigorated her, lifting her worries and concerns from her mind and making her feel more at ease. In the chair she was pushing, Scully lifted her head slightly, and Monica could tell it had the same effect on her. And not only because of the atmosphere, but because she was free again, and then there was the bonus of the complete absence of any reporters. Scully took a deep breath and released it slowly, and with the expelling of the air some of the tension went out of her rigid body.

Christi had brought their car around to the front entrance, and she stood beside it, keys in her hand as the group of them approached: Monica pushing the wheelchair, Mulder walking beside them and holding Scully's fingertips, John at Monica's side, casting a wary eye around, looking out for the media, and their families behind, with Mrs Scully clutching the bag of medication that had been issued by the hospital. One of the items in there was a bottle of sleeping pills to help Scully with her insomnia, and when they reached John's house, it was Monica's intention to ensure Scully swallowed one and got a whole night of decent sleep. She was sure that with a good night's sleep, and the comfort of their affection, Scully would be fine in no time.

Christi pulled open the rear door and Monica brought the chair to a stop. Mulder gently took both of Scully's arms and helped her to her feet. She was still shaky on her legs, and though it was only a few steps between the chair and the soft back seat of the car, she took her time covering the distance, and Mulder put his arm around her and steadied her as she tested her balance and strength.

"Take it easy," he said gently, helping her into the car.

When she was in, Scully shakily shifted across to the far seat, and with one glance of her blue eyes in Mulder's direction, he nodded and climbed in beside her. Then, with no hesitation, Scully lay down with her head and shoulders in Mulder's lap. Mulder cocooned her in his arms, and Scully closed her eyes. She was exhausted, thoroughly worn out, and the barriers that she had previously upheld had all been knocked down to an extent that she was no longer caring about who was watching or what they were thinking. Everything was in the open now.

Mrs Scully moved forward to the open car door. She took off her black coat, folded it up and handed it to Mulder.

"Use this as a pillow," she said, looking down at her daughter with soft eyes.

Mulder took the coat.

"Lift your head a second," he told Scully.

Scully wearily lifted her head up enough off Mulder's thigh so that Mulder could slip the coat underneath, and then lowered it again and closed her eyes. Mrs Scully ran her hand down over her daughter's red hair.

"We'll be right behind you, Dana."

Then she leaned in and kissed Mulder on the cheek.

When she retreated and closed the car door quietly, Monica let Jack take the wheelchair and moved to talk to Mrs Scully.

"We'll wait for you," Monica said. "I think it's best you stay close."

The rest of the Scullys moved into the circle.

"We'll follow you," Bill said, and with a squeeze of her elbow, he disappeared with Charlie into the shadowy car park to go fetch their car and bring it around, so that the two groups could head back to Falls Church together.

John took the car keys from Christi. "Make sure you leave your phones on."

"It'll be fine," Christi said reassuringly. "Just drive carefully, she's not wearing a belt."

John nodded, and then moved to give Christi a quick hug. The group would not be parted long, only for the drive back to John's, and yet there was a still a weight to everything that had happened, and everything they were doing. Christi returned John's hug warmly, and then, for good measure, John sought one from his mother.

Monica's eyes found those of her own parents, who were standing back a little from the crowd, giving them space, and as she locked eyes with her mother, Monica crossed the concrete and welcomed her mother's embrace. For that moment, it helped to be the recipient of a supportive hug instead of the dealer of one, as her, John and Mulder had all been toward Scully for the last few hours, and she closed her eyes as her mother warmly held her and pressed a wet kiss to her cheek. The comforting arms restored Monica's energy levels and she felt her strength building again.

"You'll be fine," her mother said, pulling away.

Her father kissed her on the cheek and then Monica turned and went back to John's side. Their hands automatically found each other's and indulged in a quick squeeze before they separated for different sides of the car. Monica hopped into the front passenger seat, John into the driver's, and then they waited a minute for Bill and Charlie to arrive in the rearview mirror. Scattered raindrops fell on the windscreen, the beginning of another shower.

Monica twisted around between the seats to view Mulder and Scully. Mulder was holding her warmly in his lap, but as Monica looked, Scully's eyes slid open again, sleepily meeting Monica's.

"Remember to keep us informed," Monica said. "Tell us everything."

"I will," Scully said softly. She let her eyes slip closed, as though her eyelids were too heavy to keep open.

"How do you _really _feel?" John asked quietly, twisting around to share the gap in the seats with Monica.

"Sore," she replied, speaking with her eyes still closed.

"Sore?" Mulder asked. There was an edge of worry in his voice. Monica wished again that he would keep it out. Scully needed them to be strong.

"I have a pounding headache," she said quietly. "And my chest feels tight, as well as the bruise."

"Are you sure you can breathe okay?" John asked.

"Fine," Scully answered. "It's just the aftermath of the CPR. It's a good sign. It means Charlie did it properly."

Monica couldn't help smiling a little. Even now, so far down in the dumps, Scully's brain couldn't resist analysing her own condition and reporting it back to them like a computer. She sounded impressed with her brother's first aid skills.

"Guess the doctor genes run in the family," Mulder said, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Scully was too tired to smile, and opened her eyes and said, "Don't tell him. He's not half as tough as he likes to make out. He's enormously kind-hearted."

"We won't tell him," Monica assured her. Certainly no good would come of telling Charlie he had hurt her in the process of trying to save her. However medically impressive Scully found it, Monica couldn't imagine it would sound like a compliment to anyone else.

The sound of gliding tyres hit her ears then, and she looked up through the back window to see Bill and Charlie pull up behind them. Out the window, Mrs Scully and Tara headed for the back seat. John nodded at them and turned back around to the start the ignition.

Monica noticed the way Scully was fighting to keep her eyes open and said, "Go to sleep, Dana. It's okay."

And without another word, she did.

XXX

The absence of the media outside the hospital had its price, and this was the presence of them outside John's house in Falls Church. It was not a large group, not quite the hordes that had been present during the daylight hours for the past few days, yet it was still enough to cause a sharp pang in Monica's heart as they turned the corner into the street and saw the group of just over 20 reporters all standing there, so keen for the story that they were all waiting in the rain, a huddle of bright fluorescent orange and yellow raincoats.

"Damn," John muttered, and he glanced at Monica, sharing with her a look that was both worried for the effect this would have on Scully, and irritated that they couldn't have more respect for the delicacy of the situation.

Mulder wasn't half as polite as John, and Monica glanced behind just as he murmured, "Fucking hell", and shook his head to himself before looking moodily out the window at the darkness and the rain against the glass.

In his lap, Scully was still asleep, as she had been for the entire trip. She was so exhausted from everything they had been through, from the very little sleep she had enjoyed since their return to Washington, and now from the shock and turmoil her body had recently sustained, that her body had finally shut down on her and said that it was going to gets its sleep whether she wanted it to or not. So despite the fact that the position she was in looked dreadfully uncomfortable to Monica, she remained in a deep sleep. Of course, Monica thought, her tiny frame helped in that she was able to fit herself across the back seat without having to scrunch herself up too much, and there was no doubt that she found Mulder's cuddling soothing, and then there was the fact that Monica had turned the car heater on for her, keeping her warm because her body was so boney it had no insulation to do the job itself ... but still ... the angle her neck was on was not one Monica envied. Nor did she envy the task of having to wake her up in about twenty seconds to take her inside the house.

The moment arrived too soon. John was forced to slow down to drive amongst the reporters, and then he swung the car into his driveway. The media were not allowed onto the private property and had to settle for filming over the front fence, yet this was still intensely annoying and did nothing to shelter Scully. The fact that it was dark and raining steadily gave them a slight advantage, but the four of them had become such an outstanding story that the media were willing to put up with both of these facts for the handsome bonus the footage would get them from their networks. So the reporters leaned over John's picket fence in their bright plastic raincoats, cameras perched on their shoulders and all shouting questions which Monica didn't even bother to listen to. John rolled the car to a stop, switched off the ignition, and sensing they had stopped, Scully began to stir.

Monica unsnapped her belt and spun around in her seat, looking out the rear window in time to see the Scullys pulling up in front of the house. This managed to successfully divert half the cameras, whose owners trained the lenses onto the four family members all leaping out of the car, shooting impatient looks at the people in their way, and hurrying forward, shoes clapping on the wet concrete.

Simultaneously, Scully began to drift back to consciousness. Her position across the seat hid her from view, and Monica was thankful for it.

"Are we here?" Scully slurred, opening her eyes slightly.

"Yeah," Monica answered. "But don't move, just stay there a sec'."

John undid his own belt and opened the car door.

"I'll unlock the door, so we can make it quick."

He jogged through the rain to his front door, searching through his keys as he did so. At the same time, the Scullys reached their car, and Charlie opened the door nearest to Mulder. He looked worriedly down at his sister, and then over his shoulder to Bill, their mother, and Tara. As Monica watched, Scully rolled onto her back, knees arched slightly, but her head still leaning against Mulder's thigh. Her eyes were closed again.

"Are you okay?" Monica asked.

"Yeah ..." Scully breathed. Then, as if remembering her promise to be honest, she added, "I just need a minute."

"Are you in pain?" Mulder asked, stroking her hair with one hand and squeezing her shoulder with his other.

"Yeah."

"Where?" Charlie asked, leaning into the car near Mulder. Behind him, his family were getting soaked, but none of them seemed to care.

"Just my head," she said. "It's pounding ..."

Monica knew she was lying, but it was one she would let her get away with because she knew Scully was lying to protect Charlie. The truth was in the fact that Scully hadn't shifted her entire torso a single inch since rolling onto her back, and Monica could tell she was aching from her headache right down to the tops of her thighs.

John jogged back through the rain and opened the other rear door, leaning in near her feet. Monica noticed he was soaked, raindrops were rolling down from his hair.

Monica reached through the gap in the seats and put a hand on Scully's arm.

"Can you sit up?"

Scully opened her eyes. Suddenly the look of pain gave way to sharp realisation, provided by the shouting coming from over the fence, and her eyes widened and her tone of voice went hard with dread as she said, "Oh God ..."

Monica understood instantly, even though her family members didn't.

"It's okay, they can't see you yet," she said quickly, squeezing Scully's elbow.

"Forget about them," Mulder said. "They don't matter."

But despite their words, Scully began to force herself to sit up, in pained, short movements, until she was sitting beside Mulder, and leaning forward slightly under the weight of her pounding head. He had his hand on her back, and Monica grasped her hand.

John put his hand on his shoulder. "If you can just stand up, we'll carry you inside."

Monica thought it said a lot about her condition when she didn't protest against the idea and just gave a little nod. She was too tired, too sore, too sick and too drained to care. But she was worried about John. She did not want to be the one to point out that he would not be capable of carrying Scully. Though he would have easily before the accident, now all four of them had been totally stripped of all their fat and muscle, were walking skeletons, and none of them would be able to carry anything more than the clothes they were wearing.

Thankfully, Bill saved her the pain of pointing this out. He hurried around the rear of the car, soaked to the skin, and emerged beside John.

"Here, let me take her ..."

John stepped back, and Bill leaned in and began to help Scully out of the car, at the same time keeping his back to the media to shelter her from the cameras.

Monica reached for the car door and finally stepped out onto the concrete and into the unescapable downpour. Her thick black coat shielded her from most of it, but it quickly soaked her hair and face and she moved to stand with Bill and John, so the three of them were surrounding Scully, and their larger frames preventing the cameras lenses from viewing her. Over the car roof she saw Mulder getting out and then hurrying around with Charlie and the rest of the family.

And then - though she would not have thought it possible - the shouting from the reporters increased another notch, and Monica and John both looked around to see that the others had arrived. Christi was leading the pack, jogging up through the rain, fluffy blonde hair tamed under the weight of the downpour, and the cameras spun toward her, and Anne, Jack, and Monica's parents, hoping they would give a statement in the complete absence of one from the survivors themselves ... and then Christi saw Monica and John, summed up what was happening, and though she had given every appearance of wanting to barge through the crowd and rush to their aid, she jerked to a sharp halt on the other side of the fence and paused in the rain to give them one. Monica knew how smart and kind she was, and knew that it had nothing to do with liking the media and everything to do with diverting the cameras and giving them a chance to take Scully inside and with minimal witnesses.

"Thank God," John said, and Bill seized the opportunity and swung his sister up into his arms. Scully put an arm around his neck and Bill hurried inside, moving past Charlie, who was holding the door open, and into the silence and darkness of the house.

XXX

John flicked on the flights and the living room and stairs lit up. Scully's family crowded into the hallway behind them, and Monica heard footsteps on the concrete outside and knew Christi and the others had finished their statements now they were safely inside and were following them in.

Bill paused for a split second with Scully in his arms. He threw Mulder a questioning look.

"Bring her upstairs," Mulder said. "We'll let her sleep."

Bill proceeded up the stairs, looking not at all strained by Scully's weight, and Monica, John and Mulder followed. John flicked on more lights as they reached the upstairs hallway, and Mulder walked ahead of them and opened John's bedroom door. He switched on that light, and then moved to the bed and pulled back the blankets - the same spot Monica had slept in after her collapse at Follmer's funeral.

Bill carefully lowered Scully back onto her feet. She kept one hand on his upper arm to steady herself, and then, almost straightaway, she took a single shaky step in the direction of the mattress - where the covers were pulled back - and sat herself down on the white sheet.

Mulder sat down beside her, immediately put an arm around her shoulders. John knelt down in front of her feet and began removing her running shoes, pulling at the white laces, sliding them off her feet, and then lining them up with military trained precision by the base of the bedside table.

Mrs Scully moved to stand beside Monica, the bag of medication in her hand.

"Do you want to take something to help you sleep?"

"No, I'm okay," Scully said. She lowered herself sideways down onto the pillow and her eyes slipped shut.

Monica shared a smile with John, and Mulder stood up, picked up Scully's legs and lifted them gently onto the mattress. He grabbed the covers and pulled them back over her, tucking her in.

"Thank you," Scully murmured.

John stepped forward and leant over, hand searching at the mattress for the electric blanket controls. He clicked up the button a few notches to keep her warm, as the room was icy.

"Would you like us to sit with you?" Monica asked.

But they never got an answer. She had already fallen asleep.

XXX

**_Chapter 43 - Mexico and the Future_**

In the living room below, Anne walked in with a pile of fresh towels she had grabbed from John's linen closet, and Christi reached for one, fluffy and white, and used to it to dry her face. Charlie, Tara, Bill and Mrs Scully were also all soaked, and each grabbed one and did what they could to dry themselves off. In the corner, Christi's father Jack was lighting the fire, piling it up high with logs, and Mrs Reyes was folding Monica's clothes - the ones that had been left on the end of John's bed yesterday and which she had grabbed before they had all left them alone in the upstairs room. Christi, exhausted, sat herself down in an armchair, trying to dry the wavy ends of her hair. She wished John owned a hair dryer.

"God, what a day," Bill said, lowering himself down onto the sofa with a towel in his hands.

"What a week," Charlie said.

On the sofa opposite, Mr Reyes sat down with a sigh. "I don't like it."

Christi could have rolled her eyes, but she restrained herself. She hated Mr Reyes, and he no doubt knew it now after her threat at the hospital that morning, and most likely he felt the same thing toward her. But still the fact remained that as long as Monica needed them, she had to play along. Monica was their first priority.

"Well who does?" Charlie said, sitting down beside Bill. "What's to like?"

"She nearly died," Mrs Reyes said, finishing up with Monica's clothes and coming to join them.

"But she didn't," Christi interrupted quickly. "And she'll be okay now she's back here. She just needs to sleep it off."

Christi felt glad that Mrs Scully had moved out of the room and into the kitchen with her own mother. She knew Mrs Scully was still worried, and honestly couldn't blame her. And having Mr Reyes sit there and criticise them now was surely not going to help.

"What's your concern?" Jack asked, shutting the door of the fire as the flames rose up. He stood up and moved to join them.

"They're so dependent on each other," Mr Reyes said. "Their ability to cope is entirely wrapped up in each other's stability."

"They've been through a lot," Tara said.

"Absolutely," Bill added, leaping to the defense of his sister. "The things they've seen, it's enough to make anyone search for comfort."

"She couldn't bear to be separated from them," Mr Reyes said.

"Well," Charlie said, finishing with his towel and dumping it on the coffee table, "then we keep them together."

"They can't stay together forever. They can't hide within each other forever."

"I wouldn't bet on it," Christi said softly. It was a comment mostly to herself, but everyone else caught it anyway and Mr Reyes' face hardened as he caught it.

"Sooner or later they'll have to move on. Everyone will. You cannot babysit them forever. How long can you keep up this charade?"

"_Charade_?" Bill said in disbelief.

"This is their lives," Tara said, somewhat calmer than her husband, but still with a tinge of anger. "It's not a game. What happened to Dana today proved that."

"And what happens at the end of the week?" Mrs Reyes asked calmly. "Have you thought about that?"

"At the end of the week," Christi said, "we'll continue to do whatever we have to. As we are now."

"And your job?" Mr Reyes asked. "Aren't they expecting you back at the school?"

Christi hesitated. It was an unpleasant fact that had been lurking at the back of her mind for days. When the accident had occurred, she had taught through, needing to keep busy while they were waiting for news. And her colleagues, friends amongst the staff had all been extremely supportive. When John had been found and Christi needed time off to go to Vancouver, the principal had quickly agreed, even though such leave wasn't in her contract. She was on paid leave, and it hadn't escaped her attention that it was a very rare and generous move on the part of her school. But it had also only been for just over a week, and like Mr Reyes said, they were expecting her back.

"Yes," Christi admitted with a sigh. "On Monday."

It was Wednesday now, and the closeness of this deadline weighed heavily on her mind. Her principal was a generous woman, and would no doubt grant an extension, but still ...

"And you," Mrs Reyes said, looking to Bill and Tara, "you have young children. Your three-year-old girl must be missing you deeply. How long can you stay here, leave them with your parents?"

"The kids are okay," Bill said, "and right now they're better off in San Diego, as far away as possible."

"They're fine with my mom and dad," Tara said. "They're doing a great job."

When the Reyeses still looked sceptical, Charlie added, "If worst comes to worst, you two can go back. We'll look after things here."

"And the Navy?" Mr Reyes asked, switching his attention to Charlie.

"I have another two months before I'm due back."

"And you?" he asked Bill.

Some of the fight went out of Bill's eyes and Christi recognised the same discomfort she felt by her own looming deadline.

"Two weeks."

Christi felt a wave of sympathy.

"Listen," Mr Reyes said, with an attempt at a kind tone, "We're not trying to aggravate you, it's just that these are realities you can't ignore. It sounds great to say you'll be there no matter what, but the facts are that you can't ignore your children forever, you can't leave the Navy before you're term's up, and-" he looked toward Christi "- you probably can't afford to quit your job. You must have a mortgage."

That, again, was true. Christi lived only a few doors up from her parents in Atlanta, but she did still owe a substantial amount on the house and was dependent on her job to make the repayments. It was something else that weighed on her mind, for this was surely going to take more than a week, and if it came to her taking unpaid leave, which could be very likely ...

Jack moved to stand near her chair, face hard. "I don't think Christi's finances are any of your business."

Christi felt a surge of affection for her father. She knew they would offer to look after her if it became necessary. She couldn't help giving him a smile.

"And besides all that," Bill said, "even if you were right, exactly what are you suggesting? You think we should all piss off home and leave them with it?"

There was a pause. Neither Mr nor Mrs Reyes said anything, and for a few moments, all they could was the murmur of Anne and Margaret talking softly in the kitchen, and of the rain puddling outside, and the fire beginning to crackle as it warmed up.

"Mr Reyes," Christi said, with a kind tone, "do you really think it will help to take Monica to Mexico?"

There was another pause. It was Mrs Reyes who answered.

"We can look after her," she said. "We have room for her in our home, we can afford the best doctors ..."

"And exactly what do you think that's going to do to Dana?" Charlie asked angrily. "And to Mulder and John?"

Bill glared at them. "You saw today how much they need each other. You saw yesterday how much Monica needs _them_."

"I doubt she'll go," Jack said. "And you can't force her."

"She's our daughter," Mr Reyes said.

"_Adopted _daughter," Charlie said. "And she's an adult now." He paused. "When are you going to realise that?"

But Mr Reyes ignored the latter comments and said, "We're her family. You're not. And _they're _not."

Christi felt a stab of fury and she couldn't help sitting up straighter in her chair and glaring at Monica's parents. As far as she was concerned, Monica _was _family, and she did not need to see a ring on her finger to accept it. She did not even need for John to kiss her, although she fervently wished he would. For Christi knew that few things bound people together like tragedy, and though Christi had never quite gotten to know her before as a friend, as she had never had the chance, Monica had been family ever since she had investigated Luke's disappearance. Since she had dared to actually care about Christi's nephew, and since she had broken protocol and offered a crying Anne a compassionate hug in the middle of the police station, since she had dared to attend the funeral. For these reasons, Monica was family, and would always be welcomed by all the Doggett family members, and all the family on Anne's side, too. They owed her a debt going back ten years. Even now, when their large extended family called nightly for news on John's condition, it was not only John they asked about. The enquiries were equally directed towards Monica, and to Dana and Mulder as well. Christi's family did not recognise genetic boundaries when it came to tragedy and love. And if they were here, she knew every one of them would feel as outraged as Christi felt herself.

"They _are_," Christi said firmly.

"You're not," Mrs Reyes said softly. "However much you'd like to be."

At that moment, Christi wanted to cross the room and hit them, as she had threatened to that morning. But her father's soothing hand on her shoulder, and his own equally furious look caught her in time. Her chest heaved with fury and she glared at them as hard as she could. But Monica needed them. Monica would not thank her for hitting them, for swearing at them, for ripping them apart as she longed to do, and so Christi was forced to restrain herself and had to sit there and fantasise about it instead.

"Are you going to hit me?"

His voice was mocking, playing on the fact that he knew she wouldn't ...

Charlie's voice was cold. "If she doesn't, I will."

And then everyone in the room was on her side, all glaring at them, the battle lines clearly drawn and the age of diplomacy over. They had tried and _tried_, suppressed their hatred again and again, stepped in front of Monica to protect her so many times now. Christi had interrupted so many conversations to cut off Monica's parents before they hurt her. She had threatened her father in the hope to keep him quiet. Everyone had supported her through Follmer's funeral, kept her secret for her. Anne had comforted her as she vomited, trying to build a relationship with the woman she already saw as her future daughter, to be a mother in the emotional absence of her own. Even Assistant Director Cassidy had seen what was going on and had stepped in to keep the peace, to save one of the agents in her care from complete destruction ... but for how much longer ... how long could they keep it up?

And then there was the sound of a door clicking open upstairs. Someone was coming out of John's room. All of them couldn't help glancing up the stairs, and the fear it was Monica swamped them. Christi looked back to Mr Reyes. She still longed to hit him. To _smash _him.

But the footsteps crept up the corridor upstairs...

And she didn't.

Instead, she pushed herself angrily to her feet and retreated, walking away from it all, walking past Anne and Margaret, who at some stage had drifted out of the kitchen and were both glaring with the same united fury she felt herself ... but Christi walked past them, heading for the back door that led to John's porch.

She walked outside onto the small porch, into the darkness, and closed the door behind her.

XXX

It wasn't a big porch, but it was covered, sheltering her from the rain, and it also had an old, faded green swinging seat that Christi remembered from John and Barbara's house in New York. Standing there, she could not believe John still had it. It was the seat upon which the two of them had sat for so many conversations after the death of Luke, and his divorce from Barbara. They had downed beers sitting on that seat, reminisced at length on that seat, and sometimes just sat and gazed out into the garden, neither wanting to talk at all, but wanting the company and watching the sun set and insects buzz. It was the seat that had seen the beginning of their friendship as adults, seen the transition from teasing siblings to supportive friends - all of which would probably have never happened if it hadn't been for the loss of Luke. What a horrible world it was that they had to lose a child in order to discover their own family ... but at least some good had come out of the tragedy. Part of her wondered whether any good would ever come out of this one.

She sat down, not caring that it was dark, and just listening to the relaxing sound of the rain. The pitter patter was always therapeutic. But she did not sit there long before the porch light came on and her mother appeared in the doorway. She stepped out onto the porch, closed the door behind her, and came to join her on the seat, sitting down with a sigh.

The seat swung a little.

"Are you okay?" Anne asked, putting a hand on Christi's knee.

"I'm about to commit murder," Christi replied, gazing out at John's back lawn, now visible by the porch light.

"I know the feeling," Anne said. "But whatever you do, don't hit him. He'll have you on assault charges, and the last thing we need right now is a court case."

"I know," Christi said softly. She watched a bird fossick around at the base of some dripping bushes near the fence. "That's why I walked away."

Anne squeezed her knee. There was silence for a moment as Christi watched the bird hopping around on the wet grass.

Eventually, she pulled her gaze back to her mother. She met her eyes and saw concern there.

"I'm scared for her," Christi confessed.

"Nothing may happen," Anne said hopefully. "There's no doubt they want her back in Mexico, but I can't see Monica agreeing to it. And she is their daughter, she's known them 33 years, she'll know how to talk them round it."

"He's a determined bastard," Christi said lowly.

"Yes, but Monica's bright. She might not have said anything, but I'm sure she already knows what they're thinking. She's not an idiot."

Christi said nothing. She gazed out at the shrubbery at the bird, which was standing in a puddle and flapping its wings to shake off the raindrops.

"And it's not like John's going to let her go," Anne said, smiling.

Christi looked up at her and couldn't help smiling in return, picturing with her mother John's likely reaction. And neither Dana nor Mulder struck her as the type to let her go without a fight, either. She smiled to herself. They were so close, and it was extremely heartwarming to see.

"And if something _does _happen," Anne went on, "she'll be all right. She has us behind her, she has Margaret behind her, she has Charlie, Bill and Tara all behind her. As well as having Dana, Mulder and John."

This brought something else to the forefront of Christi's mind, involving a memory of a certain conversation with Monica in the basement bathroom of the FBI. She had promised Monica something then, and it was a promise she intended to keep, if she ever had the chance to pause for five seconds and catch her breath.

"She doesn't really have John," Christi ventured, lost in thought. "Not all of him."

Anne smiled widely.

"Well ... knowing you as I do, I think I'm going to leave that one safely in your hands."

Christi smiled back at her mother. Her mother knew her so well. Of course, they were so much alike, Christi was almost a copy of her mother. The same looks, same wavy blonde hair and blue eyes, the same tall and slim figure ... the same desire to kick John up the ass and tell him to get on with it ...

"Are you going to be all right?"

"Yeah," Christi said, nodding. "I think I might just sit out here a while, listen to the rain."

Her mother squeezed her knee again and pushed herself to her feet. The chair swung as she departed. When she reached the door, one hand on the handle, she turned around.

"If John emerges, I'll send him out."

Christi grinned, and her mother grinned right back.

It seemed, Christi thought, that they were of one mind, and she was not the only one who was going crazy watching John be the fool of the millennium.

XXX

John emerged nearly ten minutes later, when Christi was beginning to truly relax, leaning right back in the seat and gazing at the bird in the garden bed under the glow of the porch light. Somehow, between the bird and the rain and the words of understanding from her mother, her anger had subsided. And now, in its wake, she only felt tired from the long day. It was a relief to be able to take some time out, to get out of the room for a while and so by the time John opened the door and knocked on the frame to announce his presence, startling her out of her reverie, she was utterly calm.

"Hey," she said, smiling up at him. He had changed out of his drenched clothes and wore jeans and a black sweatshirt now, but his hair was still damp, as was her own.

"Hey," he returned. He let the door fall shut behind him and then came to join her on the seat. He narrowed his eyes at her. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she replied. "Just taking some time out."

Then there was another knock at the door and Monica appeared in the gap, also in a change of clothes, which consisted of blue jeans and a black top with a high neck. Her hair, too, was damp and some of the brown strands were clinging to her neck. She had a pile of clothing dangling over one arm.

"Sorry," she said, casting Christi an apologetic glance before looking to John. "Just wondering if you mind me using your washing machine. We have a mountain of laundry about to spill into your hallway."

"No, go for it," John said.

She went to turn and leave them but Christi stopped her.

"Monica, we'll do that," Christi said quickly. "You go relax."

"It's okay," Monica said. Her expression was sullen. "I'd prefer to get away for a few minutes. I don't feel like being in the spotlight tonight."

Christi nodded, understanding completely.

"Do you want me to throw your things in as well?" Monica asked her. "I'm already doing Dana's and Mulder's, it really wouldn't be any more."

Christi hesitated. "No, it's okay -"

"Just chuck it in, Monica," John interrupted. "She hates doing laundry. She's lying to ya."

Christi was caught, but couldn't help smiling at the knowing look on John's face. Monica smiled back at the two of them and a second later was gone, closing the door quietly behind her and leaving the two of them alone.

"Tell-tale," Christi said. "We're supposed to be looking after her, not setting her onto my laundry."

John shrugged.

Christi understood, though. She knew how it helped to be busy, and that even to walk out of the room and take care of the household chores would be preferable to sitting around in the living room in such an intense atmosphere, everyone wondering what she was thinking and how she was coping. Washing machines didn't talk.

There was silence for a moment. The rain lightened a little, the bird had hopped out of sight under a bush, and the porch light flickered briefly.

"How's Dana?"

As she had expected, he just about jumped at the sound of her voice, forgetting where he was and who he was with.

"Fast asleep," he said, stretching his legs out on the porch. "Mulder's with her."

"You're not worried they'll have sex in your bed?" she joked.

He stared at her. Apparently he was so tired he didn't catch the fact she was joking, and had not considered the possibility that his two friends might get up to mischief in his own bed.

"I'm kidding," she said, laughing and swatting his knee lightly. "Relax."

"Don't do that," he said, shaking his head. But he was smiling faintly as he said it.

"I doubt she's up for it anyway," Christi said honestly. "In the state she's in it'd probably finish her off."

He nodded and said nothing. For a second or two there was silence. Christi's eyes found the bird again, which was back in the puddle, using it like a birdbath and flapping around. John's eyes followed hers to the bird and for a few seconds they just observed.

"I'm sorry about Mark," John said suddenly.

The memory of her recent break up came flooding back and it swirled unpleasantly in her stomach. She wished he hadn't brought it up.

"Yeah," she said softly.

"What happened?"

"He fell in love with someone at work," she said, and made a half-hearted attempt to shrug it off. "Just announced it out of the blue a few weeks ago."

John looked annoyed on her behalf and his kindness made Christi smile and the pain eased a little. He was a good brother in these things. He always had been when it came to her love life. It had been John who had taught her self defence as a teenager, wanting her to be able to defend herself.

"I suppose the relationship must have been getting boring for him. He fell out of love."

"If he thinks you're boring then he's a short-sighted," John said matter-of-factly. "And you deserve better."

"I suppose so," Christi said.

"You'll find the right one," John said kindly.

"Oh, I don't know," Christi said, voicing a fear that had begun lurking in her heart for the past few weeks. "I'll be 34 soon. I feel like I'm getting old now, I'm starting to wonder. Sometimes it feels like all the men I meet are just after a good fuck, and I want more than that these days. I want someone committed."

She didn't have to spell it out for him, knew he would understand. She heard the ticking of her biological clock, and deep in her heart she wanted to settle down with a nice husband and have some children. The days of pure sex or outrageous fun were starting to come to an end as her heart craved for motherhood, for a child of her own instead of spending every day educating everyone else's. She thought Mark had been the one.

"Anyway," she said, trying to cheer up and steer things out of this depressing territory, "That's not what I wanted to talk about."

"Then what is it?" John asked, worried. "Something wrong?"

"Maybe," she said. She paused to take a deep breath. "Do you mind if I be honest?"

"Go right ahead," he said.

Their conversations were never anything _but _honest. She always preferred to come straight to the point with John. He was not a fan of implied meanings or indirect approaches, and their conversations certainly never took the peculiar routes she had seen the Scully family employ, which seemed to involve loop the loops and talking about everything except for what they were really saying.

So she did. She folded her hands in her lap, looked him straight in the eye, and said, "You're in love with Monica."

She knew she had hit the bulls-eye when he did nothing but stare. His breath caught in his throat and his eyes widened a fraction. His mouth hung open slightly, as if about to say something but the words had since evaporated into thin air.

Christi reached out and put a hand on his knee. "And she's in love with you."

She waited a few seconds while he rode out the shock waves and her words skirted around the blockades of disbelief in his mind. Then he closed his mouth, opened it again once or twice, before narrowing his eyes in complete surprise that she had apparently intruded so far into the secrets of his mind. While she waited, she wondered whether he would deny it. Would he prolong the process, or come clean with her? She hoped for the latter. Their relationship for the last several years, since Luke, had been quite open and she hoped he wouldn't slam the door on her now.

At last his breathing started again, but with the sweeping away of the shock waves came shadows of doubt in his eyes.

He lowered his voice. "What ..."

He broke off, shifted a little in his seat. Christi removed her hand.

"You basing that on something?"

Christi smiled to herself. The fact that he had bypassed questioning her assumption on his own feelings and gone express straight to her statement on Monica's, showed her that he was not going to lie to her. He was shocked, perhaps too surprised to acknowledge her accusation and so was diverting to the subject of Monica, yet he had not attacked her on it. And that meant she had been right and he was buying time for his shock to subside.

"Well, on Monica's side," Christi began, crossing her legs in a relaxed fashion, "she told me."

She paused, guiltily enjoying the stunned look on his face, but she went on before he could interrupt with an interrogation.

"And as for _you_," she said, smiling, "you've got it written all over you. I buy that the four of you are extremely close, and you've all been physically clingy since getting back. But the way you and Monica are with each other ... never a foot apart, holding hands, sleeping holding each other ... close as you both are to Mulder and Dana, I don't see you pulling either of them into your lap like you do her. I don't see you making a five hour show out of untying Dana's hair. Nor do I see you crying over Mulder's figure."

He stared at her.

"But if you want to know what _really _gave you away," she continued, "it was the first night back here, when we were talking on your bed."

He continued to stare and his eyebrows narrowed a little further, not making the connection.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but the way I saw it there was only one explanation as to why Monica experiencing such a life-threatening dose of hypothermia could make you look so scared and soft-eyed at the same time. And I'd love to know what was on the other end of that sentence you broke off, too."

She stopped, and for a moment, as he struggled to process her words, there was only the sound of the rain. Christi leaned back in the chair, completely relaxed and patient.

"But ... she told you that?"

She smiled to herself nodded to him. He was still denying none of what she said over his own feelings, and was apparently stuck frozen on her statement that Monica had told her she loved him.

"When?"

"Last night at the FBI."

He continued to stare, but a flicker of comprehension was visible in the backs of his eyes, as if that explained why they had been so long in emerging from the bathroom.

"She was a little down. Wondering if you'll ever make a move."

It took a few seconds for his stunned brain to catch up and absorb her latest words, but when it did he finally lowered his eyes from her face and sighed, turning back to lean against the back of the seat.

Gently Christi leaned forward and put a hand on his knee. "John ... what are you afraid of?"

"It's the last thing she needs right now," he said, shaking his head a little to ward off the possibility of happiness. "A guy taking advantage of her ..."

"It's _exactly _what she needs right now," Christi countered. "To have the full, unlimited support of someone she loves deeply."

"This trauma, the doctors warned us it has effects. We're supposed to allow two months before making any decisions."

"To prevent knee-jerk reactions based solely on the trauma," Christi corrected him. "And this isn't. Are you saying that before the accident, you never felt a thing for her? That this is merely a product of the plane crash and didn't exist previously?"

He shot her a disgusted look, but looked away again almost instantly. Christi could see moisture glistening in his eyes under the porch light.

"She deserves better," he said.

"Better how?"

"Someone whole. Young, fit, undamaged ..."

"Someone who doesn't have Luke," Christi finished sadly, sighing herself.

John remained silent.

"She understands about Luke," Christi said at last. "He might not have been her son, but she was there with us when it happened, and she was there with you for years afterwards, supporting you. There is no woman on Earth who understands that more than Monica, and no one to whom we owe more thanks."

She paused to let her words sink in. He still wasn't meeting her eyes, but she understood that. The memory was painful.

"Similarly," Christi went on, "there is no one on Earth who will understand what she's feeling now more than you. And as she will make room for Luke, understand your pain and help you with it, so you understand hers."

He said nothing, but his eyes were still shining with unshed tears.

"John ... I'm sorry to say this to you, but it needs to be said. Do you have _any _idea what you're doing to her right now?"

He looked around, not comprehending.

"This constant rejection," she clarified. "_Constant _rejection. You are the number one person she needs love from right now and you're turning her away because of nothing more than fear. She has, and continues to offer you, all the comfort she can possibly give through every heart-breaking moment of your life and yet you give her _nothing _in return. How long are you going to keep up this half-commitment? Absorb all of her love to satisfy your own selfish needs and give her only little bits in return, the scraps you think you can afford? Don't you _realise _what this is doing to her?

He sat up and stared at her in open shock, facing her on the seat. He looked as if he wanted to argue, but deep in his heart could not find a sufficient argument to combat her words. Some of the tears slipped out of his eyes, but he made no effort to wipe them away. Evidently, he had given no thought to what he was doing to Monica's heart.

"_Fix it_, John," Christi said firmly. "You love her. She loves you. She understands your pain over Luke's murder and you both understand each other's pain now. No one else besides Mulder and Dana ever truly will, and though the four of you have an extremely tight bond, they will both make room for you to have a relationship, just as the two of you have for them. And if you need extra motivation, then maybe I should tell you that Monica's parents are planning to take her back to Mexico. Permanently. They won't be coming back. And as long as you're playing this game with her heart and making her doubt whether you care, then you're running the risk that she might actually go."

He stared at her, and she saw his eyes contract in fear.

"Mexico?" he said, finally finding his voice.

"Yes, Mexico," she said, resuming a gentle tone. "So if you want my advice and want to avoid disaster, I suggest you swallow your pride, go into your laundry, tell her how you really feel and then get on your hands and knees and _beg _her forgiveness for being such an ass."

His chest was heaving with so many emotions Christi couldn't possibly list them all: fear at permanently losing Monica to Mexico, anger at her own accusations of selfishness, hurt under realisation that she was right, and all over an underlying love for Monica that had his eyes shining with tears ...

"John," Christi said, putting her hand on his shoulder and looking straight into his eyes, "you have the whole world to tell you you're a hero, but you only have me to tell you you're a fool."

XXX

For minutes they sat in silence, John absorbing her words as Christi's hand idly rubbed and patted his back. He was leaning forward in the swinging seat, head in his hands, every part of his body feeling as heavy as lead. He stared at the concrete floor of his porch between his fingers, thinking over her words, listening to the rain pattering down in puddles on his lawn, listening to the bird still fossicking around in his garden bed near the fence and to the sounds of everyone else inside the house, moving around from room to room, hearing some words, the voices of the Scully family, but not enough to make sense of their conversation. And all the time Christi sat with him, patient and understanding as he had always found her to be, comforting him as he went over and over her words, and as the realisation that she was right in every one of them began to sink in and tighten his whole body until he felt he would never be able to move again.

He did love Monica. He did not need to say it out loud to Christi. She knew. At times like this he thought it was her who should have joined the FBI. She would have made an outstanding agent. And now, with the realisation of how he had treated Monica, his "half-commitment", and the fact that her forceful parents wanted to move her back to Mexico, he felt as if the ground had disappeared from beneath him. He had not thought of where the four of them were heading. The future was not planned in any shape or form, other than his assumption that they would all stay together. But Christi had torpedoed even that. He had wanted to think that Monica did not want to return to Mexico, only now he was not so sure. She had, after all, grown up there, her family lived there, and he knew Mexico had to occupy a large slice of her heart. She surely had many friends there, too. He was stupid to think otherwise, Monica attracted people everywhere she went. She was addictive in her presence. And as for Washington, she had only moved there for work, because he had needed her and she had come without question. He had needed her then on the X-Files and she had joined, without question. He, Scully and Mulder had all needed her time and time again, and she had cancelled her planned visits to Mexico time and time again. How many years had it been since she had been there and spent any significant time with her family? How many times had her cancellations been due to him? And now, because of his habit of absorbing all she had to offer and not giving what she wanted in return, he did not know for sure that she would refuse to return to Mexico. For all he knew, she craved the change, might crave the return to her childhood environment where everything safe and comfortable. If he was honest with himself, he had already thought vaguely of visiting Atlanta, though he had said nothing yet to the others, so it was only natural that maybe Monica, too, wanted to visit Mexico.

But as he sat on the seat and Christi sat with him, as she had on so many previous occasions so many years ago, the heaviness slowly gave way to strength and determination. He loved Monica and he was damned if he was going to stand aside and let her psychotic father take her to Mexico, away from them all. He had made a mistake, been a complete prick, and he accepted that. He could accept that like a man and take steps to make it right. All was not yet lost. Monica was not yet lost.

He began to sit up, pushing himself up from his hunched over position as determination surged through his veins. His love for her pounded through every part of him. He knew he was crying. His cheeks felt wet and his vision was still blurry. He blinked to clear his sight but didn't bother to wipe away the tears.

Christi's hand dropped from his back.

"You know where she is," she said. "And if I were you I'd grab her now while she's alone."

Laundry. She was in his laundry. Washing their clothes. _Alone_.

The last word catapulted him into movement.

He stood up, and without a word to his sister, hurried toward the door of his house. He flung the door open and, veins still pounding, went inside.

* * *

_That line of "You have the whole world to tell you you're a hero, but you only have me to tell you you're a fool" - I've been waiting to use that for **months** - the last 170,000 words. I feel glad it's finally down!_


	17. Chapter 17

_Hi guys, I'm a little afraid that some people aren't going to like this section, as it's D/R heavy and M & S are asleep throughout the whole thing. I think Scully deserves a good sleep, but rest assured it won't last forever. I doubt I'm even a quarter of the way through this story - I do plan for it stretch on for years to come (their time, not ours), and there are plenty of M/S scenes to come, I assure you! I'm also aware that some people are probably bored of it being family heavy, as in bored of Christi & Charlie etc, but the two are a significant part of the story, and will remain so. I hope people don't mind. I've tried to show in this section how supportive they are, and let the characters bond outside of their own family tree. I hope I've succeeded. _

_This chapter carries a warning for sexual situations. There's probably some language in here too, I can't remember. I hope you enjoy! _

**

* * *

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**Chapter 44 - Not a Moment Alone**

John was halfway down his hallway in the narrow passage between his back door and the laundry wedged into the corner of his house when the fear he had abandoned on his porch caught up with him. It was magnified by the sight of Monica through the open doorway of the laundry, standing with her back to him, sorting through the humungous pile of clothing heaped in a blue plastic basket at her feet. Most items she dropped into the top loader, but there were some she set aside on the edge, things that had to be washed separately. But as he watched - as the past ten years of turmoil and enduring friendship sped past his own eyes and the magnitude of what he was about to do overwhelmed him - she just worked on, shrinking the pile at her feet, dropping scraps of clothing into the top, all the while not realising he was watching from halfway down the passage.

And slowly, the fear seemed to dissipate, his mind now having no doubts about what he was doing. Even now, with both of them so traumatised and emotionally wrecked, so physically depleted, to an extent that Monica's jeans were now hanging off her when they used to be so attractively snug, there was no woman in the world he wanted more. And, somehow, the sight of her in his laundry seemed to amplify this. As he spotted a pair of his own cotton briefs being snatched up by her hand and dropped in, it felt to him as if they had been already married ten years, it all felt so natural. And, with that thought absorbed, he suddenly saw himself as every bit of the jerk Christi had said he was. He had had her by his side for years, loved her for years, and yet nothing had happened. It had taken a devastating plane crash and the loss of sixteen fellow agents for him to realise he loved her, and a kick up the ass from his own sister before he had even thought of acting on it.

But they were here now. Now was the time to put an end to it, to move forward again ...

His heart began to pound again, but for courage and determination this time, not out of adrenaline, shock or fear. The voices from the living room faded into insignificance behind him, and he slowly moved forward, unable to prevent his eyes from admiring her thin behind as he approached. Her left hand was clutching some clothes, including a black blouse of Dana's that was dangling toward the floor - but she was leaning over into the machine, her right arm stretching down inside it as she rearranged something to sit better. Her black top rode up at the back a few inches, so he was treated to a sight of her skinny waist, and even the slightest view of the top elastic of her black lace panties, her loose jeans failing to hug her tight enough to stay up properly.

Physically, she had never been worse off. And yet to him, she had never been more attractive. Beautiful, sexy, still shining in spirit even in these horrific circumstances ...

Oh, he loved her. Loved her, loved her, _loved _her.

He stepped in through the open door and it was then that she heard him. She straightened up and glanced over her shoulder - but did a double take as she spotted his wet cheeks.

Her face fell and her empty hand reached for his, wrapping her fingers around his own. "What's the matter?"

"I gotta talk to you," he said simply.

Immediately she gave him her full, undivided attention. She placed the handful of clothes - including several pairs of lacey underwear, the likes of which his washing machine hadn't caressed for about a decade - on the edge of the machine behind her. Feeling completely confident, John gripped the edge of the door with the hand that wasn't linked with Monica's, and pushed it back behind him. The push wasn't hard enough, and it didn't make as far as the slot - stopping short about an inch or two, but it blocked them from sight and they were far enough down the passage to not be overheard. The loud, joking voices of Bill and Charlie, dominating the kitchen conversation, helped to make sure of that, too.

Then he turned back to Monica, and let go of her hand, instead placing both of his on her shoulders and stepping close. He could feel her collarbones jutting into his hands, even through her thick black top. She moved her own hands to his hips, one gripping the edge of his jeans, the other a little higher and further around, warming the skin even through his clothing.

Suddenly he found himself even further into her personal space.

He also found he had no idea of what he would say.

But Monica was patient, and as his tongue twisted into knots and he began to feel a little foolish, caressing her shoulders and staring dumbly into her brown eyes, she merely moved one of her hands up and down on his waist, stroking, in no hurry at all. He was glad she didn't question him. He half expected her to begin guessing, maybe mentioning Holly, Kim, or Skinner - or any of the other zillion things he didn't want to think about right then. But she didn't.

Instead, she said, "You wanted to talk to me."

He nodded. "Yeah."

But his mind was preoccupied by her hands on his waist, especially the one that was still roving in circles toward his back. She meant it to be soothing, as it had been to him for the last few weeks, but now it only set him aflame and he wanted that hand to shift to about a dozen other places, and to pull her flush against him until there was no more of her touch to be had. The thought had already shifted to his hands, and they slipped from her boney shoulders down to her narrow waist, holding her there against the cold metal of washing machine. But that wasn't enough, either. He moved even closer, body now only two inches from hers.

A smile snuck out on her lips. "So are you going to talk to me?"

She was looking at him like there was something amusing on his face, but at the sight of her gorgeous smile the speech lobe of his brain only seized up.

He found himself shaking his head.

Her smile widened. "You're not?"

"Uh-uh ..."

And he crushed his lips against hers.

XXX

There was a split second - as the force of his kiss threw her hard backwards against the machine - when she was too shocked to respond. But when she recovered, catching her balance with both of her arms around his waist, it was a first kiss as he had never known one before.

Usually, John was a gentleman when he first made a move toward a woman and a first kiss was generally light and closed-mouthed. But Monica had somehow blasted that rule to smithereens, and he had her pinned against the washing machine, all escape routes blocked, arms around her waist, her back, sliding everywhere and touching her hard, as ten years of built-up passion erupted in both of them like Vesuvius. There was nothing light about this kiss, as Monica responded with even more passion than he had first dealt her, tugging him tight against her, and opening their mouths until he was at the complete mercy of her prodigious lips and tongue.

God, if he had known she could kiss like this ...

But no, he thought. It was a good thing he hadn't known, or else he would have torn down her pants in the middle of the X-Files office _long _ago.

Jesus _fucking _Christ ...

He continued to kiss her hard and all rational thought evaporated from his head, decisions being made instead by his lower brain as he felt himself quickly respond. Automatically his hands slipped down, gripping Monica under her buttocks and lifting her to sit on the edge of the machine. She spread her legs, locking them either side of his hips and pulling him even closer so their groins were touching. And then her hands were somehow under his sweater and shirt, pressing all over his chest and back, holding him tight against her so he felt her soft breasts pressed up against him. He ran his hands all over her, too, over her thighs and backside, touching and squeezing her in every place that had until now been forbidden.

She broke the kiss briefly, needing oxygen.

"God ... John ..."

His own mind then discovered the beauty of oxygen too and he enjoyed a split second where his logical mind began to recover and he remembered that he had a real mission somewhere amongst all this. He did not want to be any guy just going in for the kill, not like _Follmer_, screwing her on the desk at the FBI in New York, he wanted her to understand ...

"I love you," he threw out.

She responded by claiming his lips again, but he felt her smile against him. He knew it sounded ridiculous, they were grinding their groins against each other, and it was so far past the "I love you" stage he suddenly felt idiotic. And then his next thought was a brief realisation that Monica had known all along that he loved her, that she must have known what he was going to do when he first walked into the laundry. It was why she had been smiling, she had known all along ...

But Jesus Christ, could this woman _kiss _...

Damn.

And his next thought, as Monica's hands were unzipping his jeans and he found his own on her breasts, went straight to his upstairs bedside table, into a little cardboard box ... wondering if that expiry date might be gone ... intoxicated though he was, he couldn't get Monica pregnant ...

And then, with no warning at all, the laundry door swung open.

"Monica, would you -"

John and Monica sprung apart in time to see John's mother standing in the doorway. His hands still on Monica's breasts, and one of hers squeezing his ass, wedged together against the machine, there was no way she could mistake what they were doing.

In a flash she was gone, pulling the door shut behind her.

"Sorry!" she said loudly.

John and Monica stared at each other.

XXX

For several seconds they said nothing, shocked, staring at each other, chests heaving as they each recovered. John let his hands fall from Monica's breasts to the more respectful territory of her thighs, but otherwise they did not dare move.

Then, as they had both feared, the noise broke out from the living room. First came Christi's loud "_Mom_!", groaning in disbelief, and then her responding with an amused "Well how was I to know, I thought he was still out with you!" Charlie and Bill were both laughing, which on Charlie's part quickly escalated into an encouraging wolf-whistle which only caused to split everyone into further laughter. Bill couldn't help himself and shouted out, in between the mass jubilation, "What, you couldn't wait until we were gone for the night?" And then there were shushing noises from Mrs Scully, who said, "Shh, you'll wake Dana", though they could hear the smile in her voice and knew she was just as amused as the rest.

Monica, still perched on the edge of the machine, hung her head slightly, a pink glow spreading on her cheeks. Her hands had left his groin, and now there was just the one cupping his hip bone through his jeans. John, too, felt tsunamis of embarrassment and shame rocking him around and couldn't meet Monica's eyes.

Then, at last, he heard his mom say firmly, "Come on, leave them alone" and the laughter died down.

There was a tense few seconds as they both struggled to pull their nerves back together, and then John couldn't stand it any longer. He zipped up his jeans and then reached for Monica. Gently, proving he could in fact be a gentleman, John slid her off the machine and back onto her feet, and then he straightened her black top, which had twisted around slightly under his wandering hands.

"Sorry," he said, feeling the shame of how he had treated her eating away at him.

She considered him for a second, and then took a deep breath, flicked her hair back over her shoulder and met his eyes with recovered confidence.

"Don't be," she replied.

He saw the sincerity in her eyes and reached for her, grasping her shoulder and squeezing.

"I do love you," he said.

"I know," she said, smiling a little at hearing it from him. "I love you, too."

He met her eyes and her smile widened a hundred-fold, beaming at him, eyes sparkling. He couldn't resist it and leaned in to kiss her again. But it was gentle this time, light and soft, the first kiss he felt he _should _have given her. She responded with equal softness, sparing him from the irresistible talent she had shown him only a minute earlier. But when they separated he felt the bliss of the moment fade again and he sighed.

"Don't tell me you regret this," she said.

He nodded. "The timing."

It wasn't how he would have chosen it to happen, had he bothered to put more thought into it. It certainly wasn't how he would have liked Monica's parents to find out, either. They had already fought with Monica once today over her love life, and the thought that they were now on the other side of the door, knowing John had nearly fucked their daughter in the laundry with everyone so nearby was surely not going to aid the peace treaty. John would have preferred earning their approval, winning her father's respect as a worthy candidate for the affections of his heiress daughter. Instead John felt sure he was facing a duel the second he stepped out the door, and he fervently missed his gun, which was stuck in the protective custody of AD Cassidy.

"Actually," Monica said, smiling mischievously, "I've never had sex against a washing machine before. It would've been a new one for me."

"Especially with your father lurking on the other side of the door."

He had said the magic word; instantly her smile vanished and she sighed heavily. It was as if she had not thought of them, had been blocking them from her mind in a sealed crate marked 'painful thoughts'.

"I doubt he is," she said.

John thought that was wishful thinking, but typically optimistic for Monica.

"Well unless he's evaporated into thin air ..."

"Or out your front door," she said. "If I know him, he'll vanish. It's his instinct in times of strife."

Had they not been talking about Monica's own father, John would have argued the point. His own opinion based on the past few days was that her father's first instinct was to sue everyone in sight. But he didn't dare voice that view. Right now, Monica looked sad again and there was no way he wanted to make her feel worse. Though they had never talked openly about it, John could tell her parents were bothering her. She had pushed it aside because of the emergency of Scully's condition, but now ...

"I'm sorry about how he treated you today," John said, squeezing her shoulder and stepping close to her again.

"It was bound to come out eventually."

She did not meet his eyes as she said it, and when he tried to catch them, to comfort her, she instead sighed a little, and gently eased out of his arms, seeking distraction. She knelt down and picked up some scattered items of clothing that had dropped on the floor when John first kissed her. Scully's black blouse was amongst them.

John recognised this for the conversation closer that it was, and though he wanted to broach the subject at some stage, he chose to let it go for now, understanding that for one day, Monica had perhaps had enough of them. They had nearly lost Scully today, and that was already too much without adding on a war with her parents. From the sombre expression on her face as she gathered the clothing, and as John bent down to help, John felt guilty for bringing up the subject at all and began to search for something he could say to bring back the teasing, twinkle-eyed Monica he had known only a second ago.

She stood, dropping the items into the machine, and John stood, too. He came up behind her and dropped his own handful of assorted socks and underclothes over her shoulder and into the metal pit. Then he embraced her, taking her hands in his and wrapping them around her skinny waist. He squeezed her hands, held her close with his chest against her back, and pressed a long, soft, loving kiss to her temple. She sighed and leaned into him, closing her eyes a moment.

"I love you, okay?" John said softly, holding her. "It's gonna be all right. We stick together, we can get through anything."

He kissed her on the temple again, and as he lingered there, she opened her eyes again. She squeezed his hands in return, signalling their unity, and then he pulled away as she turned in his arms.

She claimed his lips again, a little gentler than last time, but with no less finesse. And he found himself falling just as quickly as their mouths opened and her tongue found his ... as she pulled him against her, wanting to be almost smothered by his frame ... as John complied and kissed her and held her with all of his heart, walking a tightrope between his head demanding he be a gentleman and his body demanding he give in to everything Monica was offering ... as he moved her back until he felt her frame hit the machine again and she smiled into the kiss, giggling so sweetly he had to kiss her a hundred times harder ...

_God almighty ... _

"Monica..?"

A voice called out hesitantly down the passage at them and Monica snapped away, eyes wide. It was her mother's voice.

With an apologetic look to John, and as John squeezed her shoulder in solidarity, she hurried for the laundry door. She opened it, revealing Monica's mother hovering halfway down the passage. It looked to John as if she had wanted to come knock on the door but had stopped halfway, unable to bring herself to do it, like the door had held a fatal disease, a quarantined area that should be avoided at all costs.

But the face of Julieta Reyes was tense, leaving John in no doubt that every one of Monica's fears had come true. Her father was also completely absent, and the only other people in the passage now was John's own mother, and Mrs Scully, who were standing side by side at the far end, watching, looking worried and showing none of the joy they had expressed laughing through the door earlier. John wondered what had happened.

As Monica headed down the passage to join her mother, John automatically followed, and when they reached her, he put his hand on Monica's back.

This action - and Monica's subsequent appreciative glance - caused Monica's mother to spare him a quick look, but she was hard to read, and when she spoke it was only Monica she addressed.

Her voice was forcefully gentle and didn't match up with her expression at all.

"We're going to head off for the night," she informed Monica. "Your father's tired. It's been a long day."

"It has," Monica agreed awkwardly. But she was unsure of how to finish the sentence, of how to react to her mother's obvious disapproval - expressed through her body language - and after a second Monica closed her mouth again and left it at that.

"You get some sleep," Julieta Reyes said, with a huge effort to sound kind. "You've been awake too long."

Monica said nothing. For the first time, John found her expression difficult to read.

There was an awkward silence. Mrs Reyes hoisted her handbag higher on her shoulder, and looked as though she was going to turn away, but then she had a second thought, and stepped up to Monica. She kissed her quickly on the cheek. But she did not hug her, not otherwise touch her, and when she pulled away could not meet Monica's hurt eyes.

Julieta Reyes then quickly marched down the passage and left their sight, sparing not John, his mother, nor Mrs Scully a glance, and not bothering to say goodbye to any of them.

XXX

They remained still until they heard the front door close, and then everyone who had been in the living room came to stand in the passage with them: Bill, Tara, Charlie, Christi and John's father, all slowly walking in to stand with Mrs Scully and John's mother, and all with identical looks of heart aching sympathy. It looked like a funeral march.

Monica was still stunned. Her eyes were filled with tears, and the fact that she had anticipated this reaction seemed to make it hurt no less. She turned to face John, and he put a hand on her shoulder. He was ready to catch her if she needed a hug, but knew from her stunned expression that this was not yet what she wanted.

It was Charlie who found words first.

"We're so sorry, Monica," he said sincerely. "They just ..."

He trailed off, not wanting to complete the sentence, but his words seemed to propel Monica out of shock.

"He stormed out?" she asked, searching the sympathetic faces.

"Yes," Christi replied softly.

Monica nodded to herself. Her eyes were glistening.

"Hey, it's okay," Anne said gently, striding forward and putting her arm around Monica. "Don't let it get to you. He's just taken a lot of surprises for one day, the man needs some air. Let him have some recovery time. I'm sure he'll be back in the morning."

John watched as his mother comforted Monica. A tear slipped out of one of her eyes but Monica quickly wiped it away and tried to pull herself together. His mother rubbed her back.

"He just didn't see it coming like we did," Anne went on. "It came as a bit of a surprise. And for a man who's about to collapse under the weight of all the nasty surprises we've already had these last few weeks ... "

She shrugged, but John knew, as did they all. It was so much to cope with, and Mr Reyes was still yet to accept the medical fact that Monica was traumatised, much less engage with the gooey territory of recognising his daughter suffered from something as shameful as love and sexual attraction. And for someone so unworthy as John ...

"He loves you," Mrs Scully added, coming to join them. "Let him sleep it off, he'll be fine."

"And if it makes any difference," Jack said, stepped forward as well, "we're very happy for you. You both deserve this one hundred percent, and it's been a long time coming."

Monica beamed under his kind honesty and looked up at John then, the two of them sharing the happiness they had been so unpleasantly distracted from, and then Monica stepped out from his mom's comfort and toward him. John took her in his arms and they hugged closely, her head over his shoulder, clinging and holding each other as they let their joy swamp them again. John smiled as he held her against him and kissed her hair. They parted several long seconds later and stood holding each other, her arm around his waist.

Everyone watching smiled.

"Just shut the door next time, okay?" Anne said jokingly. "We're all adults and there's _no _need to hide. If you want some time alone with each other, just say so, and we'll leave you alone. No questions asked."

"You don't have to go skulking into the laundry," Charlie said, smiling with amusement.

"Just tell us to get lost," Bill said, also smiling.

"Or get Dana to do it for you," Charlie added. "She's had _years _of experience telling us to get lost, though admittedly for different reasons ..."

"Yeah, her affair was with Albert Einstein at the time," Bill said. "She used to lock herself up for days smooching the textbooks."

At Christi's confused expression, Charlie said, "You should check out her thesis sometime. It's -"

"Mind-boggling," Tara suggested, smiling. Her face was filled with respect for a work she obviously felt was far beyond her own brainpower.

"It's guaranteed to give you a migraine within two microseconds," Bill said.

"She worked hard," Mrs Scully said, jumping to her daughter's defence.

"Yes, she did," Charlie conceded. But his expression was suddenly sad. "And look where it got her ..."

The statement hung in the air.

"She'll be fine," John said encouragingly, arm resting around Monica's shoulders. He had no doubt that Scully had a lot of tolerance for turmoil. The things he had seen her deal with even in the short time he had known her ...

"But we should check on her," Monica said, pulling away a little and becoming serious again.

No one argued. Scully had stopped breathing only hours ago and nearly died, and they would probably have to check on her frequently during the night, both to be sure that she was still breathing, and to calm their own frayed nerves which had taken quite an unravelling.

"Do you have a flashlight?" Monica asked him, as he followed her into the living room. "We can't turn the light on ..."

"Yeah, just a sec' ..."

John took a speedy detour to his kitchen and fetched a heavy flashlight from the third drawer, and then followed Monica up the stairs, leaving everyone else returning to the kitchen to finish the preparation of whatever they had organised for dinner.

They crept down the upstairs hallway to his bedroom, and Monica very quietly twisted the doorknob and opened the door. The room was dark, and still freezing cold, and John switched on the flashlight in his hand as he stepped in beside Monica. He shone the beam to the floor, using the indirect light to check on their friends and not wanting to risk waking them by shining the bright beam right into their faces.

Mulder and Scully were both asleep in his bed, Mulder lying on his back with Scully curled into his side. Mulder looked every bit as exhausted as Scully, but it had been just as much as a hard twenty-four hours for him as it had been for Scully. The four of them had had next to no sleep.

Monica moved to the side of the bed near Scully and leaned over, one hand on the headboard to balance herself, checking Scully was breathing. John could tell from the movement of the blankets covering her that she was, but was still reassured when Monica looked reassured and stepped back again.

John closed his bedroom door again and then moved up and put an arm around Monica. For while she had said nothing, he understood what she was feeling, and while she had fooled everybody downstairs, she did not fool him. He knew she was hurting, and that while she had in fact drawn comfort from everyone's kind words and his own mother's hug, she still felt uncomfortable underneath. And despite her statement that they were checking on Dana, he knew her real reason for coming upstairs was actually a subconscious desire to be with Mulder and Scully again, even if the two of them were asleep. Because when the four of them were together, they drew strength and comfort from each other, and as Scully had proved earlier that day, as long as each of them found the others to be always within reach, they could cope. And so Monica sought the company of the three people she absolutely needed the most, in a subconscious effort to gather strength for a storm John felt he could see brewing on the horizon.

XXX

In the end, the night was nowhere near as long as John had feared it would be. He had envisaged endless hours sitting around in his living room, the Scullys too scared to leave Dana, and himself having to play host long into the night while all he really wanted was to have Monica alone. But that was not the case. It had been an impossibly long and tough day for everyone, and no one present fancied hours of small talk any more than he did. The Scullys had had just as little sleep as himself and Monica had, spending half the previous night at the hospital when Dana was first taken there in the ambulance, and they had probably not got back to sleep upon return to Mrs Scully's house. Then they had endured the near death of Dana, and by the end of dinnertime they were ready to collapse from physical and emotional exhaustion. Tara was yawning as she ate, Bill was shooting her worried looks, and Charlie was far away in his expression as he sat in the armchair and stared thoughtfully at the opposite wall, avoiding everyone's eyes. It was an expression John had seen on Dana's face many times - a look of being busy turning a problem over and over in her mind but having no desire to share it with anyone. The two resembled each other so much. On their part, John spent the evening with Monica sitting unashamedly in his lap, and the cosy intimacy of the position helped to take some of the strain off their not being alone. Monica was quiet, and John was understanding of this and did not try to force her into conversation. He did, however, force her to attempt to eat something, and his gentle nagging resulted in her trying some salad, picking at it with a fork, but her mind was so clearly elsewhere, still hurt by her father's reaction, and all she really wanted was to be held in his arms - a silent request which he happily fulfilled.

So when Jack suggested they call it an early night and got some sleep, everyone readily agreed. Mrs Scully was not as worried over Dana as John had feared she would be, for one reason they were frequently checking on Dana sleeping upstairs with Mulder and she had been breathing fine every time, and for another that Christi bombarded her with comforting arguments that it had been a panic attack which had triggered her to stop breathing and therefore it would not repeat itself in her sleep. She had been stable for hours, Christi argued, and furthermore, she and Charlie were both going to take turns to keep watch on her throughout the night. They would monitor her breathing and her pulse, and wake her at the first sign of a nightmare.

So the families left before the clock even struck eight, and John was left alone in the living room with Christi, as Monica used the bathroom upstairs to change and Charlie was getting himself a drink in the kitchen.

"Do you want to sleep down here or upstairs in your room?" Christi asked, bringing over a stack of blankets and pillows from the corner where they were stacked with Monica's, Dana's and Mulder's overnight bags.

"Whatever," John replied, slumped on the couch with his feet on the coffee table. He had been sitting there all night and Monica had only just vacated his lap. His thighs were still warm. But despite his relief that everyone was finally gone for the night, his heart felt no lighter. Partly this was because he was so incredibly tired, and though his spirit was keen to spend several hours alone with Monica, his sore body was telling him firmly that it would only be in a state of unconsciousness that it would happen. But there was also the unease he felt over the situation between Monica and her parents, and seeing Monica be so uncharacteristically quiet in his arms had done nothing to lift his spirits. He wanted so much to take all the pain away for her, but he could not do it, and no matter how many times he turned the matter over in his mind, he still had trouble finding an easy solution. But maybe Mulder or Dana would in the morning ...

"You don't care?" Christi asked.

John had to remember what she was talking about, and then forced his mind off Monica's father and back onto the pile of blankets and pillows beside his feet. The truth was sleeping location wasn't a matter of concern for him anymore. After two weeks of sleeping on the hard floor of a plane in freezing cold temperatures, it was no longer relevant.

"Well why don't you sleep upstairs," Christi suggested. "You could grab those couch cushions, set yourselves up on the floor beside your bed. Then you'd still be close to Mulder and Dana."

Now that she mentioned it, the idea had appeal. If he had the energy to spend time with Monica the story might be different, but he was so exhausted, and knew she was in the same state as him. The way he felt, he thought it would be an achievement to struggle up the stairs to his bedroom. And if, or when, things headed in that direction with Monica, he did not want it to be like this. He had already caused her enough trouble for one night, and did not want their first time to be while they were both half asleep, Christi and Charlie on the other side of the wall, and pushing back painful memories with Monica struggling to pull her mind away from her father's opinion of it all. The last thing John wanted was to have the psychopath in the sack with them ... and then there was also Monica's medication and the side-effects Scully had warned him about ...

No, he thought. They would sleep tonight, get plenty of rest, wake again tomorrow with fresh minds and sort it all out then. Monica would feel better then.

"John?" Christi prompted, when he remained silent.

He looked up.

"Upstairs or here?"

"Upstairs," he agreed, and sighing, he swung his aching legs off the coffee table and moved to help Christi carry some of the blankets to the floor of his bedroom.

Ten minutes later, they were ready to go to sleep. They had set some blankets and pillows on the floor next to Mulder's side of the bed, between the bed and the window, and both he and Monica had changed into their sleepwear, which in Monica's case consisted of the same t-shirt and shorts he had loaned her the previous night. The lights in the room remained off, so as to not wake their friends, and they both tiptoed around on the carpet in the dark and talked in whispers.

"You sure you're okay to keep an eye on Dana?" John asked Christi and Charlie, who had both joined them at the foot of the double bed. Charlie held the flashlight in his hand but it was turned off.

"Yeah," Christi said. "I had a mug of coffee when we got back, so I'll be climbing the walls until sunrise anyway. I might as well make myself useful."

She was lying, John knew, but he appreciated his sister's kind heart more than he could ever express.

"And you'll look out for nightmares," Monica added in a whisper, casting Scully a concerned glance, even though the latter was still fast asleep and hadn't moved an inch all night.

"We'll wake her straightaway if there's any sign," Charlie said, reaching out and giving Monica's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

John had his arm locked around Monica's waist and he gave her a squeeze too. He trusted Christi and Charlie completely, and Monica desperately needed some sleep.

But she didn't move when John tried to urge her to move with him.

"You should monitor her pulse too," Monica said to them. "Make sure it's strong and steady."

"We will," Christi assured her. "You just get some sleep. She'll be absolutely fine."

She finally turned and let John lead her to their spot on the floor. They both climbed under the blankets and pulled them back over themselves. Monica shifted her pillow closer to John's.

"What time's her appointment?" John asked, thinking of Scully's check-up they had had to schedule upon signing her out earlier in the day.

"7.45 am," Charlie said softly. "But I told Mom we'd meet her at 7.30 am."

"We should set an alarm," Monica said, thinking out loud.

John began to get up, thinking of his bedside clock, but Charlie waved him down.

"Relax, we'll wake you."

"Just get some sleep," Christi said.

They both began to tiptoe out, but Charlie turned around again.

"We'll knock before we come in, okay?"

"Thanks," Monica replied.

And then with a soft click of the door, they were gone. John heard them retreating down the hall, heading back for his living room.

John, exhausted, lied down on his back, and looked sideways toward Monica, who had raised herself up on an elbow. Her other hand was on his chest and he raised one of his own and held it, linking fingers.

"Are you tired?" he asked softly.

"Yeah," she replied. "It's been a long day. Last night at the FBI, Dana's condition, what nearly happened to her today ..."

The thought brought physical discomfort to John's chest and he tightened his grip on Monica's hand. The two of them didn't need to speak the rest of their fears. It was still too hard to think about what had nearly happened. If they lost Dana ...

"But she'll be fine," he said, trying to convince himself as much as her. "She's tough."

"I hope so," Monica said.

She sounded depressed, unsure, immersed in a sea of doubt that was fuelled by her exhaustion. He understood, though. So much had had happened in the last twenty-four hours, and everything created its own messy emotions and it was impossible to take it all in. The doctors had warned them they were on an emotional rollercoaster, and he understood the fact that Monica was on one now.

"Come here," he said.

He stretched one arm out across the pillow and she lowered herself down to snuggle up to him. One of her legs went over his and her arm was across his chest, their hands still joined. His other arm held her close to him.

"I love you," he said. He felt a flicker of joy at being able to say it. Now he had said it once, it came again with ease.

"I love _you_," she said, resting her head on his shoulder.

"You gonna be okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied, sighing. "I'll just have to talk to them both tomorrow, have a heart-to-heart."

"Or you could give Doctor Cheung a call," John suggested. "He could help."

"I'm not sure he'd be on our side," Monica said. "He might say it's a reaction to what we've been through."

John thought back to when he had said the same thing to Christi, sitting on the porch a few hours ago.

"Do you think it is?" he asked, hoping to hell she didn't.

"No," she said softly. "I've loved you a long time. Long before we left for Canada."

He squeezed her hand and hugged her closer. He could feel her body beginning to relax now, but as she snuggled closer to him and they both became more cosy, another part of his conversation with Christi came back to him - a part that lodged right in his heart with all the comfort of a porcupine.

"What's the matter?" Monica asked, feeling him tense.

"Are you going to Mexico?"

Immediately she pulled back and sat up a little, looking down at him. It was totally dark in the room, but he could feel the concern and puzzlement coming from her eyes.

"Where'd you get that idea?"

"Christi," he said honestly. "She thinks your parents want you to go home with them."

Monica was silent for a long moment.

"Are you going to go?" he asked. He wasn't asking the question just for himself, but for Mulder and Scully as well, neither of whom he knew would be able to cope without Monica.

"Well," she said slowly, "maybe. For a visit, when things calm down."

"Have you thought about going back permanently?"

Monica was silent again. Eventually he heard her sigh.

"John, I love Mexico. I was raised there, I have a lot of friends there, but my home is here now. With you, with Dana and Mulder, and as much as I love Mexico there is nothing there for me now. It's been years since I've truly felt at home there, like there was nowhere else I'd rather be."

John was quiet, and after a pause Monica went on.

"When I left for Brown at 18, my parents never intended for me to stay here. It was supposed to be just to study, but I got here and I loved it, and I think part of that might have even been because I was in my birth country again. It was almost like I was returning to my homeland. I felt I belonged. But my parents never understood it, and they've been trying to get me to return for the past 15 years."

Now, John saw the problem. Monica spoke with such a tone that he could hardly mistake the fact that it had been one reason as to why Monica was no longer close with her parents. It must have caused fights, heartache on the part of her family, who had probably felt a little betrayed, and now understanding the personality of her father John could imagine the roof-raising arguments it must have caused. Obviously, he thought, her lack of visits over the past few years due to the hectic nature of the X-Files had probably only worsened the problem. And then the tragedy had struck, Monica was now at the worst stage of her life, needing her family desperately, except the rifts in place made it extremely hard to walk back and pour her whole heart out to them. Especially since her parents' desire for her return had increased a hundred-fold, while Monica's had probably done the same in the opposite direction. Because, like him, she felt their future, whatever it was, would be in the four of them staying together for a long time yet - on a scale of months, probably years. And so Monica's home now was wherever the other three were, because that was the only place where she was now understood, where the pain was lessened and where she would never feel like an outsider because of the things she had now seen and been brutally exposed to. With him, Mulder and Dana, she belonged. They were all prisoners of the same pain, and the only defence they had was the understanding provided by each other.

XXX

John had fallen asleep quickly. After their conversation about Mexico, he had been sufficiently reassured to be able to relax again, and with the relaxation came a deep sleep which had taken him almost as soon as they had kissed each other goodnight. Now, Monica lay in his arms, alone with the darkness and a thousand things she didn't want to think about.

During the daytime, it had been easy to block these thoughts. The past few days had been constantly chaotic, and she hadn't had time to think about much beyond the immediate situations: the funerals, Dana's condition, Dana needing them desperately and clinging to her just hours ago in the ICU. These things and the fear they induced had consumed her entirely. But now ... now Dana, Mulder and John were all asleep around her, and her mind had time to revert to memories she had pushed aside. The deaths of Holly, Kim, Skinner and Brad all rated as things she couldn't bear to think about, as did the deaths of so many other acquaintances in the initial crash. She remembered the pools of blood, the screaming, remembered Colton begging Scully to kill him. She remembered the blizzards, the misery and the freezing cold, never being able to get warm enough. There had been endless hours of sitting huddled together. And then, too, she remembered the avalanche, the hike out, and most of all, the horrible things they had to do to stay alive, to supply their bodies with food. None of them had talked about this yet, it was beyond the strength of all of them.

Usually when she had things she could not bear to think about, she distracted herself. But she had no work to do right now, and when she tried to think up a comforting memory from her past, something she could immerse herself in, she found her entire past unpleasantly related to the present. Anything to do with the Bureau made her remember the agents they had lost, as did any memory from her time in New York and New Orleans. When she pushed her memory back as far as her childhood and teenage years, the memories of the golden years with her parents pierced her harder than she thought possible and she closed the door hard on those memories before the pain choked her.

So she remained alone in the silence. The only thing she could feel was John breathing against her, and minutes crept past with Monica trying to empty her mind of all thought. Then, some time later, she heard footsteps creeping up the hallway, and then a very soft knock at the door before it opened. The bed blocked her view, but she heard the person step into the room and the beam of a flashlight hit the wall beside the window. The beam then moved away to the bed, and she knew whoever it was was checking on Dana, her pulse and her breathing. Monica hadn't heard Scully turn over and knew she must be in the same position as she had been for the past several hours. Her body was so exhausted it couldn't even roll her over.

Whoever it was sounded satisfied, and retreated a few steps toward the door, but they did not exit, and the beam of the flashlight came closer again as they tiptoed around the foot of the double bed toward Monica and John.

It was Charlie. He had changed into a t-shirt and pyjama pants, and shone the beam at the blankets at Monica's knees, looking at them in the indirect light. He looked surprised to find her awake and Monica wondered how long it had been.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly.

"Yeah," she replied, mouthing the word because she didn't want to wake John by saying it aloud.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm okay," she assured him.

He nodded. He looked a little unsure, but took her word for it.

"Well we're just downstairs if you need us," he told her, and Monica thanked him and he left.

When the door closed, Monica snuggled in closer to John, enjoying his warmth and the feeling that she now had permission to snuggle as close as she liked. But at the same time, it saddened her, because part of her felt guilty at the bad start their relationship had had. Of course, what had happened between them in the laundry had been nothing short of wonderful, but the euphoria they had both felt had broken by her own father's storming out, and the moment that should have been extraordinary for both of them had turned into more pain. She wanted to be thrilled by the start of their relationship, but it had been ruined by her mother and father. She would talk to them tomorrow, try to bring them around, but in her heart she had no idea of how she would achieve her goal. But still ... she would think about that in the morning.

But it hurt. It hurt so much. Her heart ached out of jealousy for her three friends. John's family were fully supportive of their relationship. It had been Anne who had hugged her, comforted her after her father stormed out. And Margaret, too, had been loving and kind. John and Dana both had such extraordinary families. Even now, Charlie and Christi were downstairs, and were going to stay up all night to look after Dana. Monica couldn't imagine her own parents committing to such a selfless act, particularly for someone they weren't even related to. Her own father would hire a nurse to do the job. But John's family, Christi in particular, were totally committed and were open-hearted to all of them, not just John. And it hurt. She hated herself for thinking it, but the jealousy was there.

And then, the footsteps crept down the hallway again. There was another soft knock at the door, and it opened. Monica found it hard to believe, but half an hour must have passed since Charlie left. Again, the person crept to Dana's side of the bed, and this time there was a rustling of blankets and sheets as the person pulled them a little higher. And then, like before, they crept around the end of the bed and Monica found herself in the beam of the flashlight, Christi pointing it at her chest.

"Jesus, Monica," Christi breathed, narrowing her eyes with concern. "Are you okay?"

Too late, Monica realised she was crying. Her face was wet but she had not thought anything of it, her mind was so deep in thought.

Christi forced her way closer. The blankets over Monica and John covered the whole way between the bed and the wall, but Christi made sure to step on the edges, and carefully made her way up between Monica and the edge of the bed. She crouched down.

"What's the matter?" she asked in a whisper. She put her hand on Monica's shoulder.

"I'm okay," Monica said, trying to muster up her strength. She felt her body quiver a little, on the verge of tears, but she held herself together.

"Like hell you are," Christi said bluntly.

And Monica couldn't bear to argue, because the blue eyes that were looking down at her were exactly like John's, and it strengthened her pain over everything that had happened. John was _so _lucky to have a sister like Christi, while Monica's own parents ... they would never accept John ... never accept her own pain, either ...

Before she knew it a few more tears slipped out.

"Come downstairs," Christi said.

She took control, leaving Monica no room to protest. She pulled the blankets back from Monica and reached to help her sit up. Then Monica found herself under Christi's strong arm, leading her to the doorway. Monica caught another glance of Mulder and Scully, still in a deep sleep, before Christi led her out the door and closed it quietly behind them.

XXX

The living room was a stark contrast to the dark silence of John's bedroom. Christi and Charlie had all the lights on, the television was blaring away commentating a formula one race live from the other side of the world, and Charlie had set himself up in front of it with an ironing board, an iron, and the mountain of laundry they had washed earlier, which was now sitting overflowing in a basket on the coffee table. Next to it was a half-drunk mug of coffee that Monica knew must be Christi's - the caffeine supply to keep her awake until sunrise and fulfil their promise to Dana's mother that they would look after her all night.

Christi led her to sit down on the sofa opposite the television, and kept an arm around Monica's back.

"Couldn't sleep?" Charlie asked kindly, setting the iron down.

"No," Monica replied. She couldn't meet his eyes, and looked instead at the race on the television. It was somewhere in Asia, but she could not pin down exactly where.

"I don't blame you," Charlie said, abandoning the ironing and coming to sit down on her other side.

"You're worried about your parents, aren't you," Christi said, rubbing her back slowly, up and down, up and down ...

The discomfort swirled around in Monica's chest, but she fought it back under control.

"I'll talk to them tomorrow," she said, sighing. "Spend some time with them."

"Do you think you can get them to understand?" Charlie asked.

"I don't know," Monica said. "I think I have to try."

There was a pause.

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Christi said, continuing to rub her back. "He'll have calmed down by morning."

"There's no sense worrying," Charlie said, reaching across to give her bare knee a squeeze. "You'll only drive yourself crazy if you stress about it all night."

"They're probably fast asleep right now," Christi said. "They might be over it already."

Monica could believe they might be fast asleep, but as for being over it already ...

"It's not just John," Monica ventured, turning to look Christi in the eye.

"I know," Christi said. "It's a lot more than that. You haven't been close to them for a long time, have you?"

Monica looked away. The truth was painful to hear, but she was right. They had been distant for a long time now, particularly with her father. And they had reunited to find they barely knew each other. Absence doesn't always make the heart grow fonder.

"Personally," Charlie said, "I imagine it's near impossible to even tell the people you love most what happened to you up there. The pain you must feel ..."

Monica didn't want reminding of the pain she felt. Again, all the people who had died flashed through her mind and her chest tightened uncomfortably. She forced the thoughts back.

"But you're not alone, Monica," Christi said. "You don't have to shoulder _any _of it alone. Okay? It's no time to be a martyr."

Monica nodded, despite the fact that she wasn't sure she agreed. Dana, Mulder and John were all asleep right now. And Dana was hardly in a position to support her anyway, having fallen apart herself. Mulder, too, had collapsed in tears at Holly's funeral, and this combined with his worry over Dana meant Monica couldn't bear to ask him for help, either. There was a limit to what one person could take. And John ... he was asleep, and he had earned a good sleep. Monica was hardly going to go upstairs and wake him again. No, she _did _feel very much alone. She craved their support, but none of them were in a position to have strength they could loan her. In fact, all three of them were highly dependent on _her_, just as they had been on the mountain. They needed her, and she could not fall apart on them ... she would not cry ...

Christi was hugging her sideways. "You know, we are in this for the long haul. And none of us are under any false illusions over what that means."

Monica looked around at her and was faced with a pair of very determined, but extremely kind eyes. She knew Christi had been there for John after the loss of Luke, and was well acquainted with the absolute hell that they were in for.

"Hmm?" Christi said. She kissed Monica on the cheek and Monica felt the arm around her shoulders squeeze her even tighter. "Don't worry."

There was a long pause in which Christi hugged her sideways and Monica wiped away the last of the tears that had snuck out while she tried to fall asleep upstairs. Charlie's strong hand rubbed and squeezed her boney knee.

"Why don't you sit with us a while?" Christi asked. "Keep us company."

Monica took a deep breath and felt her strength return. "Yeah. I'd rather not be alone just now."

Charlie stood up and made his way back over to the ironing board.

"Want to help us sort the clothes?" he asked. "I'm not sure whose is whose. Dana's underwear isn't one of my hot topics."

Monica couldn't help smiling as she stood and made her way to the other couch, where the items that had been ironed or folded were sitting in piles. She was surprised by how easy it was. Though she had not yet slept with John, and hadn't seen Mulder naked, it was no challenge to know what items of underclothing belonged to who.

"Anything cotton is Dana's," Monica said, reaching for the pile of female underwear and picking up a pair of Dana's black panties. The woman was hopelessly practical. Monica set them aside into a pile for Dana, and followed it quickly with a white cotton bra.

"The briefs are John's," Monica went on, seizing a pair of blue cotton briefs and putting them in a pile. "And the boxers are Mulder's."

"Dare I ask how you know all this?" Christi asked, with a wide smile.

It all came so naturally Monica had to wonder herself. Of course, she knew Dana's style because she had seen her half-naked several times now, during the delivery of William, the helping with her clothes at the hospital that day, and all the times on the mountain when they accompanied each other to urinate, not daring to leave anyone alone after Brad's suicide. But as for Mulder and John, she had to think to remember where that knowledge had come from.

And then, with a blush, a smile, and an avoidance of Christi's eyes, she did. She remembered her hypothermia, and when Dana had stripped her naked and put her under heavy blankets with a near-naked John ...

Christi grinned. "You're lucky he's my brother or I'd be pressing you on this. You look like the cat that got the cream."

Monica grinned, too.

"So ..." Charlie said suddenly, "if the cotton stuff is Dana's, then these are yours, right, Monica?"

He was holding up a pair of lace, lavender coloured underwear - a sexy, quite revealing pair that Monica had never seen before.

"Actually, they're mine," Christi said quickly, crossing the carpet and taking them from his hand with a flirtatious smile. "Thanks."

Monica couldn't help smiling at the looks on their faces. Christi was teasing him, and Charlie was lapping it up.

"So where's the race?" Monica asked, turning her attention back to the television, where the drivers were on their thirtieth lap.

"Malaysia," Charlie supplied.

"We were going to watch a video, but John's collection is all war movies," Christi said. "So we went for this."

Monica continued to sort the clothes: Dana's black blouse, her own white blouse, John's navy blue socks. Christi came over and fetched a few of her own items, adding them to her pile which she would later take upstairs to her suitcase.

"So do you always enjoy ironing?" Christi asked with a teasing smile. "Or just when you're doing it for three females?"

"I don't mind it," Charlie said, ironing a pair of black pants. "I do all my own ironing, living alone. I used to do it as a kid, sometimes, too. Mom made us take turns, she used to have a roster on the fridge. I didn't mind it, but it's a good thing to give Dana if you ever want to torture her."

"Why's that?" Monica asked.

"It was just her way. She despised anything that required an IQ of less than 170. But really I think she just hated being tied down to household chores. She's such a feminist and the last thing she ever wanted to be was a housewife confined to cleaning clothes and scrubbing the toilet bowl. She had a real thing for proving herself back then."

"She doesn't seem that bad," Christi said, looking puzzled.

"She's changed a lot since then," Charlie said. "Especially since she met Mulder. If you ask me, he's the best thing that ever happened to her."

Monica's heart felt warm on Scully's behalf. Charlie clearly loved his sister, as Dana did him, although the two of them had a real allergy when it came to expressing it.

Charlie set the iron down and held up another pair of women's underwear: black lace. He looked toward Christi. He had a twinkle in his eye. Monica couldn't help noticing how easily the two of them got along. She also couldn't help noticing how they were flirting with each other and thought it was a good thing she was up with them instead of John or Dana.

"These yours?"

"No, I don't do black," Christi said, and pointed to Monica, who moved forward and took them from Charlie's hand with a smile.

"John's a lucky guy," Charlie said, pulling out a white shirt from the basket and unfolding it.

Christi grinned. "Not yet he's not, although judging by what Mom says happened in the laundry I'd say he doesn't have long to wait."

She was a tease, but Monica didn't care and couldn't help grinning as she felt herself go red. It was such a delight to be smiling and laughing, having fun with each other, instead of being left alone with her terrible memories.

"Honestly, Monica," Christi said, "I really don't mind. And neither do my mom or dad, by the way. Mom's over the moon about it."

It was so nice to hear words of support that Monica continued to smile as she finished sorting the clothes.

"And I don't care if you screw each other. I've snuck around once or twice myself."

"And here I was thinking it was going to be a boring night," Charlie said, face beaming with curiosity.

"I'm not saying anything," Christi said, folding a pair of black socks. Though she was still smiling - as was Charlie, who seemed to take this as a challenge.

"Yet," Charlie said. "It's another nine hours til dawn."

"You thinking of changing her mind?" Monica asked, enjoying the banter. She had broken endless rules in her own sex life, and the teasing grin on Christi's face was something she could relate to entirely.

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

Christi laughed. "What makes you think I'd be interested in your sex life?"

"The fact that you haven't hit me yet," Charlie said.

"You know this race is a bit boring," Christi said, reaching for the remote. "Let's see what else is on."

She started channel surfing and smiled away as Charlie tried to force her into confessing. There was no mistaking the fact that she was enjoying herself. She clearly liked Charlie, and obviously thought that as long as they were both on duty to stay awake all night, she might as well have some fun and keep Monica's mind off unpleasant things at the same time.

"Any preferences?" Christi asked Monica, as she flicked through documentaries, sitcom re-runs and a few old black and white movies.

"We know what hers are," Charlie said, referring to what had been printed in the newspapers earlier that day.

"Nothing that involves death," Monica answered her.

"Here," Christi said, passing her the remote. "You decide. It's time we checked on Dana."

"Hopefully John hasn't woken," Charlie said.

"He won't," Christi said, heading for the stairs. "He's always been a deep sleeper. He could sleep through a hurricane."

"Or an avalanche," Monica said, without thinking.

Christi stopped halfway up the stairs, and looked like she was going to turn around, but Charlie got to her first. He set the iron down, crossed to her and took her in his arms, hugging her tenderly.

"Don't think about it, okay?" he told her, hugging her tight and soothing her before the tears had time to take her. "Or unless you want to talk ... I'm a good listener."

"No," Monica said quickly. He had it right the first time. She did not want to think about it. Not alone. Not without Dana, Mulder or John by her side. Scully had made that mistake when she tried to talk about Holly.

"Okay," he said. "But we're here if you do want to. And we always will be. Like Christi said, we're in it for the long haul, okay?"

"Thanks," Monica said. She took a deep breath and forced her mind off the avalanche.

Charlie returned to his pile of washing and picked up a white blouse he had just ironed.

"That's Dana's," Monica said, before he could ask.

She took it and went to put it on Dana's pile and continued to sort the clothes before moving to put them in the relevant person's overnight bag. Charlie eventually packed up the iron, Christi finished her coffee, and the night passed with the three of them enjoying each other's company, checking on the three sleeping upstairs, watching sport on television and Charlie trying periodically to force Christi to confess her wildest sexual experiences. And though he failed, the night was alight with humour and joking, and around 4:30am when the formula one race ended and they switched to an old black and white romance movie, Monica eventually fell asleep on the sofa. She felt someone lift her head and slip a soft pillow underneath. And minutes later a heavy blanket was spread over her body. She heard Christi say "Shhh" and stroke down her hair and Monica obeyed the soothing voice and fell asleep, with the heaviness in her heart having eased.

* * *

_The last scene or two was unplanned, but I'm glad because I kinda like it, the casualness between them, allowing Monica to get to know them and them her, and of course it also sets up the Christi/Charlie romance which will - eventually - evolve. Mainly I wrote it because I wanted to show the effects of trauma I might not have touched upon very well - the emotional instability, the going from happy and laughing to sad and crying and back again all in space of 2 milliseconds. Either way, I really hope someone enjoyed it and that you weren't bored all the way through! I'd hate to think I wrote it all and people are just shrugging or something. Hope it worked for someone besides me!_


	18. Chapter 18

**_Chapter 45 - On the verge_**

"Dana?"

The voice was distant, calling to Scully as she hiked through the snow, around the side of a rocky mountaintop. Around her walked John, Monica and Mulder. The four of them had been walking in silence for some time now, their pace getting slower and slower as their bodies struggled and they stumbled with exhaustion.

"Dana, wake up."

She knew that voice ... firm, but calm ... a male voice, but not that of Mulder or John. Who owned that voice?

A strong hand shook her shoulder and the vision of the snow-covered rocks faded as her mind locked onto the disturbance.

He shook her shoulder again. "Wake up, Dana."

"Charlie?" she heard herself slurring.

"Yeah," the voice replied. "It's time to get up."

Scully opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was Mulder. She was lying curled into his side, her arm across his t-shirt clad chest. One of her legs, too, was lying over a bare one of his, but every muscle in her body was achingly stiff. She felt as if she hadn't moved for a hundred years and her body was screaming, her legs feeling as heavy as they did during the hike.

But she sighed, for she was relieved to find she was lying in John's bed in Washington DC, next to Mulder and with the glow of a bedside lamp illuminating the room. She was not trekking across the Rockies at all, watching her friends stumble, looking out across the snow-covered peaks and knowing they were going to die up there ...

"Thank God," she said softly, sighing again into Mulder's shoulder, where her face was nestled. She closed her eyes for a moment as she fought the nightmare back.

"Thank God?" Charlie asked quietly. His hand was resting gingerly on the back of her shoulder as he leaned over the bed behind her. "You been having a nightmare?"

"Yeah," Scully breathed. But she did not divulge the details.

Charlie squeezed her shoulder.

Just then Scully became aware of a second figure moving around the end of the bed in the corner of her vision. She turned her head to see Christi, dressed again in her pink butterfly pyjamas, creeping up on Mulder's side of the bed. She stepped up carefully, tip-toeing past something on the floor, and Scully knew that John and Monica must be lying on the carpet.

"Mulder," Christi said, leaning over the bed and shaking his shoulder.

He woke quicker than Scully had, drifting back to consciousness with ease, and Scully felt him stir beneath her arm as the pattern of his breathing changed slightly. Then there was a small grunt somewhere in the back of his throat and Christi stopped shaking his shoulder as his eyes opened.

"Is it morning already?" he asked sleepily.

"Well I don't know about 'already'," Christi said, looking down at him kindly. "You've been asleep for over twelve hours."

"What time is it?" Scully asked.

"Just after six thirty," Charlie replied. "We have to get ready to meet Mom."

It all came back, sinking Scully's stomach with dread as she thought of the inescapable trip to hospital. With a further sink, Scully thought of Kim's funeral scheduled at 10 am.

The arm of Mulder's that was holding her against him suddenly moved to start rubbing her back and he shifted his position a little so he could look at her.

"How do you feel?" he asked, lifting his other arm to hug her with that, too.

"Sore," she replied. She was thinking of her legs, which had been trekking miles of mountain range while she was asleep and now felt like two pieces of lead attached to her pelvis.

But Mulder's eyes widened with worry and he was instantly awake. He pulled himself out from under her so he could face her properly and Scully fell back against the mattress. He threw the covers back down the bed to expose her body, lying there still dressed in the blue exercise gear they had brought her home from the hospital in.

"Let us look," he said, sitting up and reaching for the bottom hem of her top and jacket.

She caught his wrist. "I'm okay, Mulder."

His eyes went hard with frustration and in them Scully suddenly remembered the condition they had brought her home on - no more lies.

"Let us look anyway," Christi said gently. She sat on the bed near Mulder and put a hand on his shoulder.

Scully sighed and let go of his wrist, and then stayed still as Mulder pulled up her clothes with both hands and exposed her blackened midriff.

He stared at it. Christi and Charlie were both silent for a moment, too.

"It's okay," Scully said. "It's only a physical pain."

The sharp pain that made her wince as she moved was something she could put up with easily. The sharp pains in her mind and heart were not conquered so simply.

She raised an arm to Mulder's elbow and squeezed. After a second his eyes softened and he moved to pull her clothes back down carefully over the bruise, and allowed Scully to sit up. Charlie pulled up a pillow to sit against the headboard and Scully leaned back into the softness.

She then found Mulder moving in for a kiss, and she closed her eyes as she accepted and returned the gesture, but it was not long lasting in the presence of Charlie and Christi and they soon broke apart. He did, however, keep one of her hands in his, and his fingers enclosed over hers and squeezed and rubbed with the characteristic restlessness she had become well accustomed to.

Mulder shifted his position so he was leaning back next to her, and then his eyes drifted over the edge of the bed and to the carpet below.

"Where's Monica?" he asked suddenly.

Scully shifted and saw, too, that while John was in a deep sleep at the foot of the window, the space next to him with the second pillow was empty except for the blankets.

Her eyes flew up to meet Christi's.

Christi instantly put up a restraining hand.

"She's okay," she said quickly. "She's asleep on the couch downstairs."

"What happened?" Mulder asked.

The mattress sank a little as Charlie sat down on the edge.

There was a pause in which time Scully's concern twisted into pure fear.

"She hasn't been doing so well," Charlie said. "A lot happened while you were asleep."

But Charlie didn't elaborate and Scully turned her attention back to Christi for answers. She sat up straighter.

"John made his move last night," Christi said.

"He kissed her?" Mulder asked, surprise and happiness in his voice.

"Yes," Christi said, with a small smile. "But unfortunately they left the door open, my Mom accidentally walked in and ... Monica's father stormed out. Her mother kissed her goodbye, but she was nearly just as cold, and Monica's ..."

"... been upset," Charlie filled in. "She was silent for most of the evening, and when they finally came to sleep up here ... well when we came to check on you later, we found her crying."

Scully's heart twisted in agony. The brief glow of happiness she felt at hearing that John and Monica had finally gotten together was blasted with hearing at her parents' reaction and the fact that Monica had been crying alone while they slept.

"We took her downstairs, and she's been up with us for most of the night," Christi went on. "She only fell asleep two hours ago."

There was a pause. Mulder looked down at the sleeping John, his eyes watery and sympathetic, and Scully fought the pain in her heart at what she was hearing.

"Dana," Charlie said, taking her elbow gently. "Is there any way you think you could cope with going to the hospital with just me and Mulder? I'd really rather not wake them unless we have to, but if you still feel ..."

"No," Scully said firmly. "That's fine."

Her earlier dread over the hospital checkups and Kim's funeral had been obliterated under hearing of Monica's crying. Now, she felt entirely able to cope with the trip to hospital. As long as Mulder was with her, she felt she would be fine, they could get it over quickly, speed back ... and do what? How could they help Monica? Her brain began hurriedly sorting through the possibilities.

Mulder's hand squeezed hers tightly.

"You're _absolutely _sure?" Christi asked slowly. "We don't want any danger of a repeat of what happened yesterday."

"I'm sure," Scully said, pushing back their irrelevant concerns.

"Was she crying long?" Mulder asked.

"No," Christi said. "She was more worried, I think."

"She kept saying she's fine, that she'll just talk it out with them today," Charlie said. "But she said it too many times to be convincing."

"She won't be able to," Mulder said, shaking his head and throwing back the covers to reveal his bare legs, not covered by his boxer shorts.

"It's hard enough with someone you love," Scully added, slipping out of bed as well and emerging near Charlie.

Mulder stood at the end corner of the bed where the clothes he had shed earlier were lying. He picked up his pants.

"We'll meet you downstairs," Charlie said, making his exit.

Christi followed him, shutting the door behind her.

Scully sat on the end of the bed, waiting for Mulder to finish dressing.

He pulled his pants on, zipped them up, and as he was fiddling with the buckle on his belt, asked softly, "Are you sure you can cope?"

"Yes," Scully said, nodding. "It's easier when -"

"- when there's something else to think about," Mulder completed for her.

Scully nodded again. "Yes."

Part of her felt guilty that it was due to Monica being down that Scully was able to cope. But it was only due to how much Monica meant to them. The motives were unselfish.

When done with the buckle, Mulder knelt down in front of her. He grasped both her hands in his and looked intently into her eyes.

"You went through a lot yesterday," he reminded her. "And if you still feel at all uncertain -"

"Monica needs us, Mulder."

"Yes, she does," he agreed. She could see his concern for Monica in the softness of his eyes. "But so do you. And so do I, and so does John." He paused briefly. "You cry if you need to, Scully."

"I'll be fine," Scully said, pulling one of her hands from his and moving it to grasp his shoulder. "But if I feel I won't, I'll let you know, okay?"

"Okay," he agreed, smiling a little.

They leaned in at the same time and their lips met in a soft kiss. It was longer than the one they had shared in front of Christi and Charlie - this time they took their time, each gathering strength from the display of the other one's love. Mulder's hands moved to cup the sides of her waist, and she put one of hers against his face - feeling that he needed a shave - and the other under his arm and around to his back as he hoisted himself up into a more level position. Their mouths opened, calmly exploring and seeking more affection, but when his left hand fell from her waist to her thigh and felt what was taped underneath, he gently pulled away.

"We should be going," he said.

"Yes, we should," she agreed, pulling away as well, letting her fingers trail their way down his face to his shoulder.

Scully got up. "I'll meet you downstairs."

"Be right there."

XXX

Nearly an hour and a half later, and Scully was sitting in a private waiting room with Mulder and her family. She had left John and Monica asleep and safe with Christi, and was comforted by the fact that Anne and Jack would be at the house by now, too. Having seen Monica sleeping before they left, Scully was quite confident they would get back before she woke, and also thought the same of John, who had been in such a deep sleep he had not been woken by their conversation. And now, they had since arrived at the hospital, met up with her family and Doctor Prichard, and were waiting for Scully's test results to come back. Scully knew she was receiving special treatment, well outside of normal hospital procedures, and for the first time felt grateful for the power her fame had given her.

She sat with her mother's comforting arm around her shoulders, and next to Mulder, who was holding her hand, and with Charlie, Bill and Tara also gathered around. The waiting room was enclosed so they were not at risk of being spied upon or interrupted and it allowed them to talk freely. And despite all that had happened to them, Scully's mind, like Mulder's, was still locked onto what they were going to do about Monica's parents and the detrimental effect it was having on Monica.

"Maybe we should call Doctor Cheung," Mrs Scully suggested. "We have his number."

"She got along okay with him last time," Tara said.

Scully shook her head. "I don't think the problem lies with Monica. It's her parents that are the issue, and he already had a word with them. It made no difference."

"Her father's not interested in listening," Bill said. "Everyone's tried already."

"What about her mother, then?" Charlie asked. "I mean, she's trying, maybe she'd be an easier target."

"The issue's with her father," Mulder said. "Her mother's just along for the ride."

"Could you have a word with him?" Scully asked tentatively.

Mulder sighed uncommittedly.

"I don't know," he said. "He'd be a tough nut to crack."

"Well, I think if anyone could, you could," Scully said encouragingly. "If you could charm him, earn his respect ..."

"Who'd want it?" Charlie asked, looking disgusted.

"Maybe," Mulder said. He looked a little daunted, but then took a deep breath and a moment later said, "All right, say we did. What would you say his interests are?"

Scully hesitated.

"Money," Bill said. "His business."

"Do we even know what he does?" Charlie asked.

Everyone was silent.

"Has Monica ever mentioned it?" Tara asked, looking to Scully and Mulder.

"No," Scully said. "She hasn't."

There was a pause as Scully felt a little surprised. Now that she came to think of it, they knew very little about Monica's parents, or about Monica's previous life in Mexico.

"Well maybe we could find out," Mulder said, turning to look at her. "Pull some strings at the Bureau."

"No," Scully said quickly. "The last thing we need is for him to find out we set the Bureau onto him."

"Well what about sticking to the subject of money, then?" Charlie asked. "I mean, he obviously has millions ..."

"He must own stock," Bill said. "Probably follows the market closely."

"He must have money invested all over the place," Mrs Scully put in.

"We'd have to get a newspaper on the way home," Mulder said. "Read up on the latest market news. Stock prices, exchange rates, trading prices of gold, oil ..."

"Or we could use John's internet connection," Scully said.

"And if all else failed," Charlie said, "you could always talk about Monica. You know, when she was young and they were close. He'd probably love the chance to reminisce."

"Especially if you throw in a few compliments," Bill said. "Play to his ego."

Mulder nodded. "I think he would."

But though he agreed, Mulder had a faraway look on his face, and he stared at a small table in the corner near Tara, that was stacked with torn magazines.

"What's the matter?" Scully asked, squeezing his hand.

He sighed, turned and met her face with a grave expression.

"If we do anything to rub him the wrong way ..." he said, drifting off.

"We won't," Scully assured him.

There was a short silence.

"We'd do it for you if we could," Charlie said, looking apologetic and frustrated by how little they could do. "But he hates us so much now, Christi especially."

Scully nodded. She could tell how much Mr Reyes despised Christi. Christi had threatened to punch him, and had also concealed the fact that she spoke fluent Spanish.

"Either way, we have to try," Scully said. "We can't let it go on like this."

"It'll ruin her," Mulder agreed. He suddenly gripped Scully's hand a little tighter and she shifted her fingers on his, rubbing and squeezing.

"Just make sure you get her permission," Mrs Scully said suddenly. "You don't want to go behind her back."

"We will," Scully assured her mother. Then she added softly, "We'd never go behind her back on anything."

Her family gave her slightly puzzled expressions, not quite understanding, but before they could go on the door to the waiting room opened and Doctor Lyn Prichard stood there. She spotted Dana on the sofa and walked over, smiling.

"Good news, Dana," she said, beaming down.

"Is the blood gone?" Mrs Scully asked, looking up hopefully.

"All clear," she said. "Obviously the bruise on your skin will take time to disappear, but other than that ... you're completely back to normal."

Scully smiled, feeling a huge wave of relief. She had not really realised how worried she had been until now. Her mother instantly pulled her closer sideways, kissed her on the cheek. Mulder, too, squeezed her hand and rubbed it on her thigh.

"So does that mean she's clear to go now?" Charlie asked. "Can she get the thing taken out?"

"Certainly," the doctor said, smiling. "We can remove the catheter whenever you're ready, Dana."

Scully pushed herself to her feet, letting go of Mulder's hand as she did.

"Scully?"

Scully turned around to see Mulder looking at her with a worried expression.

"You going to be okay alone?"

Scully read his expression perfectly, and knew he would not force her to take someone with her, and would accept her decision either way. But in his eyes was also a haunted look of what had occurred yesterday, the last time she had insisted she would be okay. She remembered bursting into tears when Doctor Prichard had gone to insert the catheter, and how the doctor had tried to hug her to calm her down. She remembered insisting they go to Holly's funeral and leave her there with her family. She remembered crying in the hospital chapel, remembered clinging furiously to Monica in the ICU, not being able to get enough of her warm comfort. She remembered John, Monica and Mulder all making her promise that she would be completely honest with them and that it was this condition on which they would take her home.

As the memories flooded Scully, the feelings of those moments filled her again and she could feel the tears building up behind her eyes.

"You're welcome to bring someone with you," Doctor Prichard said.

And Scully met Mulder's eyes, and she had barely moved her lips in preparation to make the request and he was already on his feet. He came and put his arm around her, bent to kiss her on the forehead to soothe the shakiness he knew she felt inside, and then left with herself and Doctor Prichard.

XXX

When they got back to Falls Church, it was nearly ten minutes past nine. Scully knew Kim's funeral was at ten, but it was not far from John's house, and so if they still chose to attend, they could make it in time. But attendance at a funeral was one of a long list of questions Scully had on her mind, things she felt the four of them needed to talk about thoroughly.

It was snowing outside as they rolled up, but the media were as determined as ever and there was a crowd of twenty or so shouting over the fence as Scully walked up the path with Mulder and Charlie. Mulder's hand was grasping hers tightly, as it had been for the entire trip from the hospital, but Scully felt a little better than she had before. They had a rough plan now, and this combined with the fact that she had been pronounced well again had boosted her energy levels significantly.

They did not have a key to John's door, but as they approached it was opened by Anne and Jack, who had been summoned by the increase of shouting from the media.

"Here, come inside," Anne said, ushering Scully and Mulder in out of the snow.

Charlie, Bill, Tara and Mrs Scully all followed and Jack closed the door behind the group. Mrs Scully began unbuttoning her coat. Tara was already hanging hers on a hook.

Scully glanced up the passage enough to see that it was still in darkness. None of the lights appeared to be on.

"They still asleep?" she asked Anne quietly.

"Yes," she said. "Haven't even moved."

"How'd it go?" Jack asked, looking down at her with concern.

"I'm fine," Scully said happily. "All well again."

"Or relatively," Charlie put in. "In terms of the injury at least."

"The doctor said she's all right," Mrs Scully said, smiling and coming to Scully's side and putting an arm around her. "She said the bruising will go in a few days, but the blood's all gone, and we don't have to worry anymore."

"So that's it?" Jack asked. "No more visits?"

"None," Scully said.

"You can use the bathroom as normal?" Anne asked.

"All back to normal," Scully said, smiling again. It was sure a relief to have the catheter removed.

"Thank God," Anne said, reaching forward and touching her arm. "That's a relief."

"We were worried," Jack added.

Scully nodded politely, but let her family take over the conversation and share their relief for her as her own mind returned to the problems at hand. It seemed as if only Anne and Jack were around.

"Are Monica's parents here yet?" Mulder asked, asking before Scully had the chance.

"Not yet," Anne said. "But it's a good thing they didn't arrive early, Monica needs the sleep."

"And Christi?" Charlie asked. "She around?"

"She's crashed upstairs," Jack said.

"We ordered her to bed for a few hours," Anne said.

"Maybe you should go too," Mrs Scully said, looking to Charlie with concern.

"No, I'm okay," Charlie said dismissively. "Besides, we have Kimberly's funeral in less than an hour, if we're going ..."

He looked to Scully and Mulder.

"Are we going?"

Scully couldn't mistake the looks on everyone's faces. She could tell none of them wanted them to go, but they would if Scully and Mulder insisted. They had already attended Follmer's and Holly's, and both of them had gone very badly for the four survivors.

"Well," Scully said slowly, "I think we're going to need to talk about that."

"Amongst other things," Mulder said, squeezing her fingers.

Scully nodded. Yes, she thought, there was definitely a lot on the agenda. So many things they hadn't talked about because the days had been too chaotic to find time for difficult questions.

"You wanna wake Monica?" Mulder asked her.

"Yeah," Scully said, and began walking up the passage with him to the living room. "We'll meet you upstairs?"

"Perfect."

XXX

The sliding doors to the kitchen - where Anne and Jack had been sitting - had been left open a fraction, and the narrow strip of light that shone through onto the living room carpet was enough to light Scully's way in the otherwise black room. Monica was stretched out on the couch, several layers of thick blankets hugging her form in the shadows, and Scully quietly made her way over and sat down on the hard coffee table beside her. For a second she observed her sleeping friend, watching the gentle rise and fall of the blankets as she breathed, and then, finally, she forced herself to reach out and run her index finger lightly down the smooth skin of Monica's cheek.

"Mmm?"

Monica lifted her head slightly, a few strands of her brown hair fell back, and she dizzily opened her eyes.

They widened almost immediately.

"Dana?" she asked. "What's the matter? Are you ready to go?"

She rolled onto her back and pushed herself up heavily into a sitting position.

"Actually, we've already been," Scully said. "We just got back."

Monica's eyes instantly shifted across the room, and Scully glanced to see that her family had moved into the darkened room. She looked confused, and her eyes shot back to Scully's and her mouth opened in objection, but as she did Bill chose the same moment to switch the lights on, and as the switch clicked and the light pierced through the darkness, Monica winced and held up her hand to shield her eyes from the too-sudden onslaught.

Instantly Scully leaned forward, a hand on each of Monica's cotton clad shoulders as the latter had her head bowed under her shielding hands, squinting.

"Are you okay?" Scully asked hurriedly, unable to help shooting Bill an annoyed look.

"Yeah," Monica said, reaching up to hold Scully's shoulder to steady herself. "I'm fine."

Their knees against each other, Scully held Monica's shoulders until she at last lifted her head, blinked a few times, and then met Scully's eyes with an intense look that made a part inside of Scully shift uneasily.

"Why didn't you wake me?" Monica asked.

Their hands slipped from each other's shoulders. Scully put hers on her own knees.

"Well ..."

"We forbade it," came Charlie's voice, and Scully looked around just as he lowered himself next to her on the wooden coffee table.

Monica looked to Charlie, but the look he gave her in return was soft and kind, and almost immediately the anger Scully had seen brewing in Monica's eyes evaporated as she recalled the previous night, and as Charlie silently relayed his ongoing concern for her.

"She was fine with Mulder," Charlie said. "Didn't even shed a tear."

This statement caused Monica to look back to Scully, and Scully found herself to again be the subject of Monica's brown eyes. But though before they had been confused and a little angry, now they were strong with worry.

But Monica said nothing. She took a deep breath, flicked her hair back, and opened her mouth, but closed it just as quickly and instead locked eyes with Scully. Scully felt stubbornness rise within her, and met Monica's eyes with equal determination. They locked gazes for several long seconds, and Scully felt everyone in the room watching them, but she paid them no attention. She knew what Monica was thinking, knew she was thinking of Scully's near death the day before, her emotional breakdown, and now trying to tally it up with Charlie's statement that she had been absolutely fine. And as Scully recalled these memories emanating from Monica's worried, soft-eyed expression, it became harder and harder to maintain her own FBI trained impassiveness, and when she saw that Monica's eyes were actually glistening with concern, something snapped. Like an elastic band stretched too far, she broke, nerves quivering and tears instantly welling up behind her eyes.

Scully looked away.

"Don't," she said, holding up a hand.

"Dana, it's okay," Monica said gently.

Scully felt Monica's hands on her, trying to turn her back to face her, but Scully's instincts were telling her to stand up and run away, across the room where Monica and her x-ray vision couldn't reach her. But as quick as this thought occurred, she saw, out of the corner of her eye, Monica shift on the couch to move closer to her, sitting on the very edge, and then suddenly Monica's arms were around her, drawing her close, and Scully went, leaning her head on Monica's shoulder.

"It's okay," Monica said softly in her ear.

Scully felt one of Monica's hands in her hair.

"I thought so," she heard Monica say to herself. Then, after a pause, she heard Monica ask, "So what did they say?"

Scully knew the question wasn't for her, but directed to her family, and she listened as her mother told Monica of the doctor's report. Then, on the return of the wonderfully logical subject of medical science, Scully felt her strength return and she pulled away from Monica, wiping away the few tears that had managed to escape from the dam inside.

Monica squeezed her shoulder.

"I think we need to talk, Dana."

Scully met her eyes. That had been exactly what she had been meaning to say to Monica.

"Yes, we do."

XXX

Monica grabbed her red terrycloth robe, wrapped it snugly around her thin body to keep out the biting cold air, and then the two of them headed up the stairs to join John and Mulder in the bedroom.

The door was wide open, and the two women slowed as they reached the top of the stairs and saw Mulder standing with his hand on John's shoulder, talking in a low voice to calm him down. It looked to Scully that Mulder was blocking John's path around the bed, like he had headed him off on what would have been a mad dash downstairs. Whether it was to shout at her for going to the hospital without them, or to desperately reassure himself that Monica was all right, she wasn't sure.

There was a break in their conversation and John turned his head and saw them standing there in the hallway. Scully saw his eyes were moist with emotion, but when they met her own it was a reproving look she received. Scully tried to give him a look of defiance, but she still felt so emotional inside that the mask eluded her. Then Monica took her elbow in a gesture of understanding unity, and John's expression softened toward them both. Monica then tugged softly on her arm, urging her to walk with her to meet them, and the two pairs met in the doorway of John's bedroom.

"_Monica_."

John's arms went straight around Monica's back and swept her up against him in a tight hug. Monica hugged him back just as fiercely, and for a minute they stayed like that, both with their eyes closed, simply holding each other.

Scully occupied herself by quietly shutting the door to the bedroom, giving the four of them some privacy and then she went and joined Mulder, standing by the end of the bed. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pressed a neat kiss to her forehead, and then pulled her down to sit on the edge of the mattress with him. Scully put her hand on Mulder's thigh, where it soon became intertwined with his other free hand.

They waited patiently while Monica and John hugged, and then at last they loosened their grips a little and Monica pulled back far enough to lock lips with him instead. Scully watched with curiosity as the kiss immediately became open-mouthed and passionate, and she smiled to herself as she witnessed the heart-warming love the two shared. They deserved it so much. They eventually pulled away, John gently breaking the kiss, and then he cupped her face with one hand and asked, "Why didn't you wake me?"

Monica considered the question for a moment, then said, "There didn't seem any need. I was fine with your sister. And Charlie," she added, stepping around John to look at Scully. "They're both great company."

"That's not the point," John said, taking her hand and walking with her over to where Mulder and Scully sat.

"They're here to help, aren't they?" Monica countered.

"Well, yeah," John agreed. "But if you're crying we want to know about it, not have you sneak off downstairs."

"You needed your sleep," Monica said firmly. "And they were up all night anyway."

"Would it really be so terrible?" Mulder asked, cutting off John as he opened his mouth to argue. "To accept their friendship and support?"

"I'm not disputing that," John said. "I just want to make sure you don't have a problem with accepting ours as well." He looked into Monica's eyes with a tender, worried look. "I want to be here for you." His eyes crossed to Scully. "For all of you. It just feels like ..."

"... like we're losing ourselves," Monica finished sadly.

There was a pause. Scully felt both Monica's and John's eyes on her, and she could see in them the memory of all that had happened to her yesterday, how close she had come.

Scully looked away at the carpet. Mulder's arm, resting around her shoulders, began to move, rubbing gently between her shoulderblades.

"The good news," Mulder said, "is that it doesn't have to be this way. We may not have had time to think, let alone talk openly, but we can change all that."

"Then let's do it right now," John said. "While we're alone. Just the four of us."

"We do have a lot to talk about," Monica agreed. "It's overdue."

Mulder nodded. "Sit down."

His hand left Scully's back and Scully, getting the message, slid back into the middle of the bed to allow room for the four of them to sit in a circle. Mulder joined her, with a large, bouncing dip of the mattress, and then his arm went back around her shoulders. Monica and John also climbed onto the bed, and Monica took John's hand in hers, resting them on her thigh.

"All right," Mulder said. "We say the absolute truth. No lies, no evasion. Agreed?"

"Agreed," John said.

"Okay," Monica said, nodding.

There was a pause. Scully felt everyone's eyes upon her, but she didn't meet them, and kept her eyes focused on John's bedspread.

"Dana?" John prompted.

Scully hesitated. The problem was that she knew very well that the major topic hanging over their heads was her own collapse at the hospital yesterday. She knew they wanted to broach the subject of how she had stopped breathing, and how psychologically unstable she had been afterward. There were still large holes in Scully's memory of that afternoon, but what little she did remember she could not bear to think about. The pain was too incredible. She had no desire at all to discuss what had happened, and doubted whether she ever would. The memories she held, when let loose again into her mind, took her over with a power exceeding even that which she had felt at the time. It made her want to run, to run forever and never stop ... or to take her own fingernails to her skin and excavate until it stopped hurting ...

Mulder's voice broke through her memories.

"Scully, do you promise?"

She tried hard to pull herself together.

"I think I already have," she said matter-of-factly. "I seem to remember telling you yesterday I wouldn't lie."

They didn't look satisfied, but she was grateful that they let it go for the moment. But she could still not meet their eyes, and looked away as soon as she finished speaking.

There was another pause which was eventually broken by Monica.

"Dana, give me your hand."

Scully, without looking, obediently stretched out one hand. She felt Monica take it in both her own, squeezing warmly.

"Now look at us," John added.

Scully hesitated.

"Can you look at us, Scully?" Mulder asked, drawing her in closer to his side.

She felt the mattress dip again as John and Monica shifted nearer, closing the gap between the four of them so they were knee to knee.

"We only have one question," Monica said gently. "We promise not to overload you, okay?"

Monica's gentle voice, the tone of talking to a crying toddler, brought shame to Scully, and she forced herself to look up.

"What's the question?"

Monica's soft hands tightened around Scully's, and her brown eyes were hesitant.

"How are you feeling?"

It could not have been a worse one, and the sheer force of it caused Scully to look away again. She felt that if she met their eyes, she would shatter. Already she felt herself trembling inside, felt a warmth behind her eyes.

John's hand landed on her shoulder, in addition to Mulder's rubbing her back and Monica holding her hands.

"Give it a go," he said. "We're right here."

"We can already see it in your eyes," Monica said. "We'd just like you to say it if you can."

"I feel ..."

She hesitated after the first two words. How did she feel? How could she put into words the inner trembling she felt, the feeling that if she let any of it into her mind she would collapse in tears and never emerge from them again? She could not think about it, was not ready to think about any of it. She knew her own reactions were to be expected, she was a textbook case of post-traumatic stress, but still there remained a block about putting the pain into words, and suddenly there was only one way she _could _explain it, and the explanation came from nowhere.

"I feel as scientists have felt for generations," she said. "Galileo, Newton, Einstein, all struck with a powerful realisation of a previously unknown truth. And they are absorbed by it, it becomes them, only when they try to express the realisation to the rest of the population they are met with scorn and misunderstanding. And no matter how correct they may be, they're rejected by the rest of the population and cast aside under a banner of difference. And it therefore destroys them."

Her words were greeted with silence, and she went on.

"It's like experiencing the space-time warp. Two entities derived from the same mother, one in the common world, another far away in a distortion of time. And when the second looks back toward home they find it unrecognisable, something they can never belong to again. For while to them only a week has passed, the first has evolved through another hundred years, and two entities that were once siblings are then no longer related at all."

"I don't think the effect will be that severe," Mulder said, resuming his rubbing of her back. "It will be for a while, but it'll calm down in time."

Scully tried to remind herself that he could be right. For six to eight weeks, two to three months, they were expected to feel this way. But maybe once the funerals finished, once the FBI began to slip back into a normal routine, and when the media became a little bored of them, maybe then it would become easier.

When Scully looked up again, it was to see that Mulder was considering her words with an expression of perfect comprehension, and Monica was too, but John was looking confused.

"You wanna put that a little more simply?" he asked her.

"You still haven't said how you feel," Monica added carefully. "About yesterday."

"We'll make it easy," John said. "On a scale of crap to shit."

Monica was smiling a little. "In round figures."

"The latter, I think," Scully said. She felt another tremor of instability wash through her and avoided their eyes.

But Mulder tightened his arm around her, John squeezed her shoulder, and Monica squeezed her fingers.

"See?" John said, squeezing again. "It's all okay."

"Do you think we could talk about what happened?" Mulder asked.

"No," Scully said quickly, shaking her head. "I'd rather not."

"Too much?" Monica asked.

"I can't think about it," Scully confessed. Their physical comfort gave her strength to confide the truth. "At least not yet."

Monica nodded. "Fair enough."

"But there are some things we do need to talk about," Scully said, taking a deep breath and meeting their eyes again. "I think Kim's funeral is one of them."

Monica glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table. "It's less than an hour away. We'd have to leave now if we're going."

"Are you up for it?" John asked. "You've hardly slept."

Scully saw Monica hesitate.

"I don't know," she said softly.

There was a pause.

"I don't know if I am either," Mulder admitted. "Not after yesterday, and after what happened at Holly's and Follmer's ..."

"We barely knew them," John said. "At least I didn't. And it was hard enough to take without even knowing them. With Skinner and Kim, with us so long ..."

He drifted off, swallowing.

"I know I couldn't take it," Scully said, safe when she knew the others felt the same. "Not now."

"On the other hand we can't just abandon her," Monica said. "Her family will be expecting us there."

"Doctor Cheung warned us against attending," John said. "And I think after what's happened we should probably take the warning. Dana's just twelve hours out of the ICU. I think we're damn lucky to have her back at all, and what we should be doing is learning from that and taking no more risks."

"I'm not saying we _should _take risks," Monica said, looking alarmed. "Our health does have to be our first priority and I think most people will understand that. It's just that I can't do nothing, either. I can't sit back and ignore her after all she went through with us."

"Skinner either," Mulder added.

"What if we released a statement?" Scully suggested. "We've been silent for so long it's probably overdue."

"I think it's a good idea," Mulder said. "We could apologise for the fact that we can't be there, say what she meant to us, give a few words of praise ..."

"We could fax it through to the FBI," John said. "We nominated them as our media representative, they could release it for us."

"We'd have to do one for Skinner for tomorrow as well," Monica said.

"Of course," John said.

"And we'll probably have to give Jana a call," Scully said. "Let her know we aren't coming."

"It raises some other questions as well, though," Mulder said.

Scully, John and Monica all looked at him.

"About what we're going to do. Whether we want to stay together in this house."

"Well we sure as hell aren't separating," John said quickly. "Not yet."

"I agree we shouldn't," Mulder said. "But we do need to think about our next move. Whether we even want to stay here in Washington."

"You don't, do you?" Scully observed.

"No, I don't," he agreed. "I will if you want to, but frankly I can't imagine a worse place to be."

"I feel the same," Monica said quietly. "There's too many memories here. With the FBI here, with the cameras outside, with so many reminders in every direction ..."

"Where do you want to go?" John asked. "Bearing in mind we have three families to take into account."

"I don't mind," Mulder said. "Though I'd prefer somewhere quiet."

"Do you want to go back with one of your families?" Monica asked. She looked to Scully. "Most of your family are in San Diego, aren't they?"

"Yes, they are," Scully said. "But I don't think it'd be a wise move. The last thing I want is to get Bill and Tara's kids involved. And I don't quite fancy flying over the Rockies again, either."

"Agreed," John said.

Monica looked to John. "Atlanta?"

The look on John's face told all. It was a look of restrained hopefulness, of a craving to return to his family environment in Georgia, but of not wanting to force them into it.

Scully reached out and gently took his arm.

"You need to be with your family, don't you?"

"That's what you did last time, isn't it?" Mulder said. "When Luke died."

John nodded. There were tears in his eyes.

"It helped," he said. "Just being around them, having them understand ..."

"Then that's what we'll do," Scully said simply.

John looked up, surprised and hopeful. Scully found his blue eyes staring into her own with overwhelming gratitude.

Scully couldn't help smiling.

"I think we'd all like to get to know your family," Scully said. "You could show us where you grew up."

Scully could see John practically bursting with hope and relief.

"We've got plenty of room," he said quickly. "My parents have a big house, two spare rooms and a fold out bed in the study, and then Christi lives three doors up as well. You could bring your family, your mom and your brothers ..."

"You don't need to talk us into it," Monica said, smiling. "We've already agreed."

"You can't argue with success," Mulder said, smiling as well. "If they helped you recover from the death of Luke, I have no doubt at all they can help now."

"It wasn't all them," John said, turning to look at Monica.

Then, taking her by surprise, he leaned in and pressed a quick, firm kiss to her lips. Monica barely had time to close her eyes before he pulled away again, but when he did her smile was even wider than it was before.

"You don't give Christi enough credit," Monica said. "She did most of it, from where I was standing."

"You don't give _yourself _enough credit," he responded.

Monica, beaming, looped an arm around his waist. John responded by putting his around her shoulders, and quickly swooping to collect another kiss, which Monica happily shared with him.

"I don't think we can leave right away, though," Scully said, when the two broke apart again. "We should at least stay here until the funerals finish. I'd like to see their graves before we go."

"Absolutely," Mulder agreed, to nods of agreement from John and Monica as well.

"And there are one or two other things I'd like to do as well."

"What are the other things?" Monica asked.

Scully took a deep breath. "Family things. I'd like to visit Melissa's grave with my family, like to grab some photos from my mom's place -"

"Photos of your father?" Mulder interrupted shrewdly.

Scully nodded. "Yes."

"Good idea," John said supportively.

"And there's something else I'd like to do as well."

"What's that?" Monica asked.

Scully hesitated. She wasn't sure how they would take this.

"No evasiveness, Scully," Mulder said. "Whatever it is, I'm sure you can tell us."

Scully took another deep breath. "I'd ... like to visit Father McCue."

"Who's Father McCue?" John asked.

"He's the priest at my mom's parish," Scully explained. "It was where we went as kids, when we were living here. He's been a family friend for a long time now."

"And he helped you through your cancer," Mulder said.

"At the end," Scully corrected him. "But there's just a few things I'd like to talk with him about."

"About what we did," Monica concluded.

The look she was giving Scully was knowing, and had a touch of the unspoken horror surrounding what they had done in order to survive.

"Yes," Scully said, nodding and looking away.

"Do you want us to call him now?" John asked. "We can ask him over."

"No," Scully said. "I'm not sure I quite have the strength for it yet. For now I'd just like to take a shower, have some breakfast, and ... write our tribute to Kim."

"I think that's best," Mulder said. "We'll take it slow, have a few hours' relaxation."

Monica began to shift herself to the edge of the bed. "Then why don't you go take a hot shower, I'll go see if my parents have arrived -"

"Not so fast," Scully said, reaching out and grabbing her wrist to pull her back. "We'd like to talk to you about your parents."

Monica didn't look at all surprised, but neither did she look impressed. John slid his arm back around her, effectively anchoring her there in their circle on the bed, and she sighed. The sparkle in her eyes of only minutes before completely disappeared.

"We want to know the truth," John said. "No more avoiding it, Monica."

"The truth?"

"The _whole _truth," Mulder clarified. "Especially in regard to your father."

"He's a _good _man," Monica said, her expression hardening a little.

"We haven't said he isn't," Scully said.

"I think the truth is that not everyone is naturally good with these things. John, your family have been through it before. It wasn't only your son that was lost, but Christi's nephew and your parents' only grandchild. It wasn't just about supporting you, they _felt _it, and that's why they're so at ease with what's happening now."

She looked to Scully.

"Dana, you and your family went through a similar thing with Melissa. And not to mention your own abduction, and then your battle with cancer. They know very well the feeling of helplessness that surrounds these traumatic events, and while they may not be quite as comfortable with it as John's family, they're still enormously resilient, and they will stick with you no matter what it takes. My own family -"

She paused. John tightened his arm, Scully shifted her grip from Monica's wrist to warmly hold her hand. Mulder took her other arm.

"My own family have barely suffered anything, much less anything near the _harrowing _experiences your own relatives have endured. You know by now they're well-off. I know I've never told you, but the fortune they've amassed - that _I_ stand to inherit - is over $85 million."

Scully felt a jump of surprise inside her, but hastily tried to cover it. The number far exceeded what she had thought. She saw John and Mulder also quickly try to hide their shock.

"I've never had to work," Monica went on. "I do it because I _need _to do something with my life, to contribute to society and feel that I'm not just some spoilt heiress but that I actually belong and have a value beyond the numerical. If they said today that they were going to leave everything to charity I would be perfectly okay with that. And I'm not trying to boast by telling you this, just trying to make you understand that because of this my parents have never suffered anything. The closest I think they've come is when they couldn't have a child, but they adopted me and it never held back their happiness. They've never had a family member murdered, never watched someone die before their time, never suffered from depression or suicidal thoughts. They've had everything they've ever wanted until now, when suddenly, out of the blue, I go missing for two weeks in Canada, they get told I'm probably dead, and even when we eventually got out, they got told by the doctors we'll never be the same and have a significant chance of developing post-traumatic stress disorder. And I don't think that makes them bad people to be terrified by that, it just makes them two people who up until now have had complete control over their lives, and are now learning under the worst possible circumstances that there is no such thing as control."

There was silence following her speech. Monica had a few tears sliding down her cheeks. John hugged her from the side.

Eventually, Mulder urged her to look up at him.

"We don't think they're bad people," Mulder said, "and we'd like to help if we can. Would it be okay if I talked with them?"

"You're welcome to try," Monica said.

"Good," Mulder said, squeezing her hand. "I'll take them aside when they get here, okay?"

"Okay," Monica agreed. "But you might want to change. If he sees you in yesterday's clothes he might not be too receptive."

Mulder looked down at his clothes - the black suit he had worn to Holly's funeral.

"I presume the same goes for us?" John asked.

Scully could see a hint of a pissed off look in his eye. It mirrored her own feelings on the matter, for despite what Monica had said Scully still had trouble liking her parents and thought that if they had been worth anything, trivial details like what clothes they wore would be overlooked. But she gave no hint of her views, because she knew Monica needed her parents and loved them deeply. So when Monica nodded that they should all clean up and get dressed, all of them complied without argument.

XXX

Monica used John's bedroom to get dressed, Scully disappeared into the bathroom with her overnight bag for the long anticipated hot shower, and then Monica met everyone else downstairs again. As she descended the stairs she heard the tail end of the conversation of their families being told they were not going to Kim's funeral, and she saw the distinct relief on everyone's faces. Then she heard Mulder and John explaining that they were thinking of going to Atlanta for a while, a statement he gave with particular delicacy to the Scullys, hoping they wouldn't be offended.

"We thought about San Diego," Mulder explained, "but we agreed the last thing we want is to risk getting the kids involved. I think it's best they stay as far away and as protected as possible."

"And that's even if we were comfortable with flying over the Rockies again," Monica put in as she joined them.

"Fox, we entirely understand," Mrs Scully said, moving toward him and putting an arm around him. "We've already talked it over. Whatever the four of you want to do, whatever you need, is okay with us. Don't worry about us at all. We're only concerned about you getting through this, so you do whatever you think might help."

"Thanks," Mulder said, looking relieved.

"You can all stay with us and Christi," Anne said. "Your parents are welcome as well, Monica."

An uncomfortable feeling immediately lodged itself in Monica's chest. She wondered how her parents would take the news that she did not want to return to Mexico. She knew they were annoyed about so many other things already, and was not looking forward to breaking this new piece of news to them as well. But as the thought came, so did John's arm, settling itself across her shoulders, and his concerned blue eyes looking into her own.

"It'll be okay," he told her. "Don't worry."

Monica nodded. She wanted to stay optimistic.

"All the same," she said, looking up at everyone, "I'd appreciate it if you could keep it quiet until I've had a chance to talk to them myself."

"Of course," Mrs Scully said, speaking for everyone.

"When were you thinking of leaving?" Jack asked.

"Saturday or Sunday," John said. "We have to stay at least until the funerals are over. We'd still like to visit their graves before we go."

"And Scully has some business to attend to as well," Mulder said, sitting down in an armchair.

"What kind of business?" Bill asked.

"She wants to visit Melissa's grave with you. The whole family."

Monica saw a slight look of surprise cross Bill's face, but it was only momentary and was quickly replaced by understanding.

"Well we can do that," Charlie said. "Take some flowers ..."

"We could go first thing in the morning, when there's no one around," Tara added.

There were nods of agreement between the family members, but it was broken by Jack asking gently, "Is Melissa a relative?"

Monica had forgotten that the Doggetts had no idea who Melissa was.

"She's my other daughter," Mrs Scully said. "She was two years older than Dana, a year younger than Bill. She was killed a few years ago."

Anne and Jack both stared in shock. Monica could almost see the ties between the two families doubling as Anne and Jack realised, to their horror, that the Scullys too had lost a family member in a vicious killing.

"Oh my God," Anne finally breathed, and she emerged from her shock and moved to sit down beside Mrs Scully. She took her hand in her own. "I'm so sorry."

"They were close," Charlie told her. "Dana and Melissa."

There was silence, then. Monica put her arm around John's waist, wanting him a little closer. Eventually Mulder broke the silence.

"There are some other things she wants to do as well. She wants to fetch some photos of your father, and wants to visit Father McCue as well."

"She does?" Mrs Scully asked, looking up again.

"She needs to talk some things over with him," John said.

He looked awkward as he said it. Monica knew he was remembering what they had done and she drew him closer to her and squeezed a little while struggling to block the memory from her own mind.

"But not yet," Mulder went on. "It won't be today."

"I hope not," Bill said.

He looked scared, and Mulder, Monica and John all gave him slightly confused looks.

"We're a little worried," Charlie said, fear showing on his face. "This morning ... she didn't seem any better than she was yesterday. Obviously she's physically better, but if you looked into her eyes ..."

"She's struggling," Mrs Scully said.

"She is," Monica confirmed quietly. "She's still on the brink."

"Just be gentle with her," Mulder advised. "I think she just has far more weighing on her mind than she can cope with. Don't ask her any awkward questions, just give her lots of love and follow her lead."

"And don't look surprised if she gets clingy," Monica said. "Keep her well supplied with hugs."

"And don't look scared," John added. "If she sees you're concerned it'll only put more pressure on her, make her feel she has to hide it all."

"Okay," Bill said, nodding along with Tara and Mrs Scully.

Charlie, however, looked deep in thought, and after a few seconds he looked up at John and asked, "You don't happen to own a chess board, do you?"

"A chess board?" He pondered the question. "Yeah, I think I have one upstairs. Box of old games I used to play with Luke. Why?"

"I just think she'll go crazy sitting around here all day with nothing to do. She might be better off with a distraction, something to focus her mind upon."

"You think chess will do that?" Anne asked, looking doubtful.

"There's a chance," Bill said.

"Dana's _hopelessly _intellectual," Charlie added. "I think she'll welcome something that makes complete sense."

"She used to play with her father," Mrs Scully said with a smile. "He taught her when she was young. Whenever he came home from a stint at sea she would challenge him to a game. She was so eager to show how much she'd learned. They used to spend hours together at the kitchen table, analysing different strategies, trying them out, talking about famous matches and players ..."

"I remember she was talking about doing it for a living at one stage," Bill said. "A female grand master."

"So what happened?" Mulder asked.

Charlie smiled. "She discovered Einstein instead."

At that point he looked up over Monica's shoulder and Monica looked around and saw Christi making her way down the stairs, still in her pyjamas, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

"Good morning," Charlie said, smiling.

"You didn't have to get up," John said.

"No, it's okay," she said, arriving beside Monica and putting her hand on Monica's arm. "How are you?"

"I'm okay," Monica said.

But Christi's eyes were narrowed with concern as she took in Monica's face and then glanced around the room.

"Your parents not here yet?"

"Not yet," Monica said, feeling her heart sink in spite of her determination to remain optimistic. But she could not help glancing at the digital clock on John's VCR and seeing that it was nearly ten. Where were they? They had not known they were not attending Kim's funeral, and should have been at the house by now. Both of her parents were early risers.

Anne twisted in her seat to look at the clock as well and she frowned and stood up.

"I'll call them, see how far away they are."

Monica was on the verge of calling out to say that she would call instead, but the words never left her mouth and she watched Anne disappear into the kitchen. After a moment, Jack followed, throwing Monica a reassuring wink, but closing the kitchen doors after him.

The uncomfortable lump had lodged itself back in her chest.

"Are you okay?" John asked, tightening his arm around her shoulders.

Monica couldn't reply. Her eyes wandered back to the clock again.

"Maybe he's been tied up by something," Bill suggested. "Delayed by an important phone call ..."

"It could be," Monica said, nodding politely.

"He'll be here, Monica," Christi said, grasping her hand. "Just relax."

* * *

_Summer has really hit here. I cannot believe I'm sitting here writing about snow - of all bloody things - when it's so scorching hot outside. 41C (105F) tomorrow, 37C (99F) Tuesday ... let's just hope there are no bushfires, though I suppose it's inevitable. There seems to be no shortage of idiots who enjoy lighting them._

_On a story note, we're getting closer to the climax now. I thought I'd be there this chapter, but that was ridiculously optimistic. This thing blows out so far! But I do see this story as having three distinct phases - this Washington funeral/at John's house phase, the next phase which is a surprise, and the long recovery/rebuilding their lives phase which'll happen in Georgia and probably be the longest of the three. _

_I hope everyone is still enjoying. This chapter was nothing much, really, just a link from one place to another. Setting up._

_Anyway, I'm off to take all our Christmas decorations down now. Over for another year. Hope you all had a superb Christmas. I did. Happy New Year! I hope you'll still enjoy reading this with me far into 2008._


	19. Chapter 19

Something in the pit of Monica's stomach clenched, and under its clawed grasp Monica gently pulled away from John and Christi and sat herself on the armrest beside Mulder. One of his large hands immediately landed softly on her back, and John, his worried eyes conveying the fact that he knew exactly what had caused her to move, stepped closer and put his arm protectively around her shoulders again.

At the same time, Monica heard the upstairs bathroom door open, a lightswitch click off, and then Scully appeared at the top of the stairs, overnight bag in her hand, dressed entirely in black and her red hair flattened with the weight of water clinging to the strands. It made her hair look a shade darker and was dripping wet on her shoulders.

"That was quick," John observed, as she arrived at the bottom of the stairs and placed her bag back in the corner with everyone else's.

Scully didn't answer, but Monica suspected the reason Scully had rushed her shower had a lot to do with not wanting to be alone. Though the feeling of the hot water massaging her skin was no doubt appealing, the thoughts that invaded her mind would have been too much in her delicate mental state.

"Dana, your hair's _dripping _wet," Mrs Scully said, walking over to her.

"It's fine," Scully said dismissively. She glanced at the roaring fire in the corner which would no doubt seize the moisture in no time.

"You don't have a hair dryer?" Monica asked John.

"No," he said.

"We'll have to towel dry it," Mrs Scully said. She had stopped Scully on her path back to where the three of them were gathered and her fingers held some of the ends of her wet hair.

"It doesn't matter, Mom," Scully said.

From across the room, Scully's eyes had already narrowed on Monica and Monica knew she was under the medical microscope. She did not know what had given her away, but then Scully's instincts for spotting illness were second to none.

"It _does _matter," Mrs Scully said, letting go of her hair. "It's dripping right down your neck and unless you dry it we'll be taking you straight back to that hospital with pneumonia."

Monica felt Mulder's hand drop from her back as he stood up.

"I'll get you a towel."

Mulder disappeared up the stairs again, and Scully, after accepting the kiss her mother bestowed on her cheek and the accompanying hug, made her way over to where Monica was sat on the arm.

"You look faint," she said, putting her hand on Monica's forehead.

"Only a little," Monica admitted.

"Sit down properly."

With a tug on her elbow, Scully urged her to shift into the main part of the seat vacated by Mulder, and when she was there, Scully leaned over again, this time putting two fingers to the pulse in her neck. Monica stretched out a hand towards John and he took it, frowning at her, and eyes flicking back and forth between her own face and Scully's, waiting for a report.

"Your pulse feels okay," Scully reported. "Take your jacket off, I'd like to check your blood pressure."

Ordinarily, Monica would have told her it wasn't necessary, but in this case Monica was worried enough about Scully that she was happy to play along if it distracted her for a few minutes. So Monica slid off her black suit jacket, laid it over the armrest, and then rolled up the sleeve of her black top.

"Do you feel sick at all?" Christi asked, looking on with Charlie, Bill, Tara and Mrs Scully.

"No," Monica replied. "I'm okay. Just a little weak."

"It'd probably help if you ate something," John suggested, sitting himself on the armrest and putting his arm around her again.

"What did you eat yesterday?" Scully asked, returning with the blood pressure monitor and sliding it up Monica's arm. She tightened the straps.

Monica had to think back. There had been the morning at the hospital, the lunch Anne had insisted they ate before leaving for Holly's funeral, and then the snack later after her parents walked out ...

"Fruit, wasn't it?" Christi said. "You had fruit salad for breakfast at the hospital."

"You had a salad sandwich for lunch here," Mulder said, emerging from upstairs with a fresh brown towel in his hands.

"Did you eat anything for dinner?" Scully asked, pressing the button on the machine. Monica felt the straps tighten.

"Just an apple," Monica said.

There was a pause in the conversation as the blood pressure monitor took centre stage. Monica felt it tighten and tighten until the incredible pressure consumed all other thought. She didn't look at her arm, but focused her attention on the edge of the coffee table and tried hard to relax.

At last, the pressure eased.

"How is it?" John asked, eyes searching Scully's face.

"Low," Scully replied, her tone worried. "A lot lower than I would have liked, as a matter of fact."

Monica wasn't sure whether or not she wanted to know the exact figure, but was saved from having to hear it by Anne and Jack sliding open the kitchen doors again. Anne made her way over to them with a smile.

"They're on their way. They were held up by your bosses at the FBI. They've been advising them of the payout figures for the defamation suit. He said he would have called but thought you were probably still at the hospital with Dana."

Anne handed Monica a folded slip of paper.

"He gave us the figure. He wants us to call back with your response on whether you're happy to settle on it."

Monica opened the paper and found the figure $978,000 scribbled there.

"That'll be fine," Monica said.

Privately, she thought that she did not care. She wanted nothing more than to forget about the whole ordeal, and didn't find the discussion a welcome one. Already a vague idea of passing the whole lot on to charity flitted into her mind.

"You could probably get more if you wanted it," John said, looking at the number.

"I don't want it," Monica said. "All I want is to forget it."

"I'll call him back," Jack said, heading for the kitchen phone again.

There was a short silence. Scully packed up the blood pressure machine and put it back in the corner with her things, then returned and took Monica's hand.

"I'd like you to eat some breakfast. You need to take your medication and it can't be swallowed on an empty stomach."

Monica looked into Scully's concerned blue eyes, then at her wet hair clinging to her face, one side tucked behind her ear.

"I'll eat if you dry your hair."

Incredibly, Scully smiled a little.

"You've got a deal."

After that, Monica was forced to go to the kitchen with John and Mulder, while Scully took the towel and attempted to dry her hair while Mrs Scully lovingly fussed over her. Mulder went straight for the cupboards, fetched himself a bowl and spoon and then emptied an Everest-sized mountain of cereal into it. John dropped some bread into the toaster and poured himself a glass of orange juice. And Monica hesitated.

Jack ended his phone call to Monica's parents, squeezed her shoulder in a paternal fashion and said, "They'll be here within half an hour," before going to the kettle and flicking the switch to boil it. Christi padded in, still in her pyjamas and with unbrushed blonde hair, and made a beeline for the coffee like her father. A few seconds later Charlie came in as well, and attacked the cereal box in the same fashion as Mulder had. When the box of cornflakes ran out before his bowl was full, he shook it for a second before taking another box of a sultana bran from the bench and finishing it off with that one, so that his bowl was filled with two different types of cereal.

To keep everyone's eyes off her, Monica took a small red apple from the fruit bowl and began fetching the implements to peel it and slice it up as she had done the morning of Brad's funeral. She saw John give her a sideways glance and he even opened his mouth to say something, but then he made eye contact with someone behind her and fell quiet. Curious, Monica was on the point of glancing behind to see who it was when a pair of gentle hands landed on her shoulders and Anne appeared at her shoulder, blue eyes looking into her own with maternal concern.

She said softly, "I'm not disputing the fact that those apples look delicious, but I'm a little concerned that fruit's all you're eating."

Monica liked Anne immensely and could not lie to her.

"It's all I _can _eat," she returned softly.

"What's going on?" Anne asked gently, sliding her arm around Monica's shoulders and turning her so Monica was facing her a little, though the two still had their backs to everyone else in the room. "Are other foods making you feel sick?"

"No," Monica said truthfully. "Not since I've been on the meds."

"Then what is it?" Anne asked quietly.

Monica wanted to answer, but was all too conscious of how many other people there were in the room. All of them were making their own noise, clattering utensils and plates, drawers and cupboards, making small talk about the snow outside. They were all discreetly ignoring Anne and Monica's whispered conversation.

"If you feel you can't talk to me that's _perfectly _okay," Anne said softly, rubbing her shoulder. "But I'd like you to talk to someone. Whatever the problem is, it's not going to cure itself through being bottled up inside."

The wording of her sentence and the tender way her arm was resting across Monica's shoulders made Monica think that Anne knew _exactly _what the problem was, but chose to give Monica the choice about whether to talk about it. She was not going to force the conversation onto her if Monica felt she couldn't handle it. And this tactfulness, her gentle, caring attitude, shattered the remainder of Monica's resistance. It was not that she did not want to talk to Anne, because out of all the people she could talk to, Anne was one of the best options. The subject that was bothering her was the one thing that remained quietly avoided amongst herself, John, Dana and Mulder, and she knew that if she raised the subject in front of Scully, it would probably crush her in her current state. She knew, too, that both John and Mulder preferred to keep the subject well and truly buried because it had been hard enough to talk about it the first time, a hundred miles from anyone on the snowy peaks, much less now, back in the city with millions of judgmental humans pressed in against them. It was scary to even acknowledge what they had done. And her parents ... she could not talk to them about it. The relationship between them was strained as it was.

"Come on," Anne said, reaching past Monica with her free arm and picking up the plate of apple pieces before steering her toward the doors. "Come with me."

Monica caught a brief glimpse of John and Mulder's concerned faces before Anne gently led her through the living room, past the worried eyes of Scully, and into the small hallway at the front of John's house. There Anne opened a side door that led to John's small study, escorted Monica inside, and closed the door behind them.

"Sit down," she said, steering Monica toward the black leather swivel chair at John's computer desk. Then Anne handed her the plate of apple pieces before wheeling over another swivel chair. The second chair Monica recognised: it was an old, dark green, fairly junky chair that John had salvaged from an FBI basement storeroom. It had been little over a year ago when one of the upstairs departments had been renovated and all the old furniture dumped in a dusty basement storeroom. An e-mail had been circulated to all employees stating that they could take whatever they wanted, and John had fossicked around through the dirt and debris and seized himself several "bargains" that he had then enlisted a bemused Monica to help him carry to his car. The memory brought sadness to Monica. Those had been the good old days, times of joking and laughter, before all the agents around them had been killed in the mountains ... before that disastrous trip to Canada ...

Anne sat down directly in front of Monica and put her hands on Monica's knees.

"Tell me what's going on."

Monica hesitated. She avoided Anne's eyes and looked instead down at the plate of apple pieces. She took one between her fingers but could not lift it to her lips.

"This has to do with how you survived up there, doesn't it?"

Monica looked up into Anne's kind, knowing eyes. She nodded. A sudden heaviness swooped in the pit of her stomach.

"I'm not at all surprised you have no appetite," Anne said. "But I am concerned about what it'll do to you if this keeps going."

Monica sighed. "It feels heavy."

"You mean food feels heavy?"

"Yeah," Monica said softly.

"Is that why you've been sticking to fruits and salads? Because they're light?"

Monica nodded. As Anne's face became even more concerned, the heaviness inside Monica doubled in weight until the pressure became unbearable. Then, without warning, she felt the first tear slip out of the corner of her eye and slide down the side of her face. She felt herself tremble just as Anne lifted her hands from her knees, put the plate on the desk, and reached for her.

"Come here ..." she said warmly, and Monica fell into her waiting arms and allowed herself to cry.

Anne embraced her, holding her with motherly tenderness, as Monica let her tears fall onto the shoulder of Anne's coat. She closed her eyes as she cried - crying for all the people they had lost, for what they had had to do to the dead bodies in order to save themselves. She cried because she could still feel the lump of flesh in her mouth, swishing it around trying to tell herself to swallow. She could feel the lump in her throat as it slid down painfully to her stomach. She could still feel the nausea whenever she thought about it, how she had coughed and coughed, wanting to vomit it back up again. She remembered all these things and she cried heavily for them, for the fact that no matter how much she longed for it, she would never be normal again.

"I've got you," Anne said, hand embedded in Monica's hair as she rocked her from side to side. "Shhh ... it's all gonna be okay ..."

"I can still taste it," Monica murmured, voice shaking, as she struggled to calm herself and let Anne hold her. "It's still in my mouth."

"I know," Anne said. Monica felt her press a soft kiss to her temple.

"She was against it," Monica said, closing her eyes tight shut as the memories rolled freely forward.

"Who was against it?" Anne asked. "Dana?"

"Kim," Monica corrected. "She was furious with us."

Anne's tone of voice changed from soft and loving to suddenly firm.

"You did the right thing. I don't want you to doubt it at all, okay? It wasn't pleasant, it was one of the most painful choices of your life, but you did what you had to do. Don't ever think otherwise."

"They must hate us," Monica said, still trembling though the tears had run out. "Their families."

"No, they don't hate you," Anne said. "The caskets were sealed. The FBI made sure of that. No one but yourselves will ever know who it was you chose."

"We don't know," Monica said.

"What do you mean?" Anne asked. Monica's trembling had eased and Anne stopped rocking her from side to side, but retained her loving grip.

Monica gently eased up from Anne's shoulder so they could talk face to face. Monica wiped her cheeks and Anne fished around in her pocket for a tissue before pulling one out and handing it to her.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Anne repeated gently, once Monica had finished with the tissue.

Monica took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Anne's hands remained on her shoulders.

"John and I never knew," Monica explained. "Dana did the cutting, Mulder was with her, but John and I never knew who it was. It was just after Brad shot himself and she didn't want me carrying the burden. She insisted she was the right one to do it, being a doctor. She's done thousands of autopsies for work. She does them every day."

Monica stopped, the end of the sentence not sounding right.

"She _did _them every day," she corrected softly.

"So it was Dana's idea?"

"Yes."

"And how did John and Mulder react?"

Monica could see in her eyes the strong concern she had for John.

"The same as me," Monica said, and the memory of John's disbelief at the suggestion flew into her mind. "It was unthinkable, but we were persuaded because we had no choice. We would have starved to death the long, slow way if we hadn't. We would have died for sure, one by one."

"You don't have to apologise to me for not dying," Anne said quickly, squeezing her shoulders and looking intently into Monica's eyes. "I've already said you did the right thing. And I think the fact that it's haunting you now can be seen as a testament to your humanity and your good heart. In that way, I think the world would have a lot more to worry about if it _didn't _bother you."

Monica wasn't sure how to take that statement. In her mind, no matter how it was put, there was no way she could feel like a good person for what she had done. It had been an act of pure survival and desperation. Heart had had nothing to do with it.

"Answer me one more thing," Anne said. "Have you talked about this amongst yourselves?"

"No," Monica replied, shaking her head a little. "It's too much."

Anne nodded, looking unsurprised and squeezing Monica's shoulder again.

"I didn't think you had. The look on John's face in the kitchen just now - he looked half scared to death for you, and then half equally scared of saying anything."

There was a short pause.

"But Monica, I'd like your permission to pass on what you've told me to everyone in the living room. I think they need to know, especially Margaret. She doesn't know it was Dana's idea, or that she was the one who had to do the act. And if Dana's to come through this, she's going to need to know."

"You're right. They should _all _know," Monica agreed, though the thought of telling everyone brought an irrational fear to her heart. She tried to swallow it down. "You're welcome to tell anyone who's family."

Anne smiled a little and then leaned forward, kissing Monica on the cheek and giving her another hug. Monica accepted the hug gratefully, her nerves still rattled, though a huge sense of relief beginning to wash through her. It was as if it had all been bottled up inside her for so long, and now the pressure had all been let out, passed onto Anne.

After a minute or two, they slipped apart again.

"Do you feel a little better?" Anne asked, tucking Monica's hair back behind her ear.

Monica nodded, and felt a little surprised to find herself tempted to smile.

"So do I, as a matter of fact," Anne said, smiling back. "I feel like I can do more to help now I know a little of what happened."

Monica nodded again. They had by no means discussed everything, but now Anne had the outline of what had occurred she was better positioned to help them all. And Monica felt that the ice had been broken between them and would make any future discussions that much easier.

"I have a proposal," Anne said, "regarding the difficulty you're having eating."

"What is it?" Monica asked, with some trepidation.

"Well if you'd prefer to avoid heavy foods for a while, that's okay. But I'd still like you try something more than apples, because you're still dangerously thin and you can't afford to lose even an ounce of weight. So what do you say we go into the kitchen together and try to find you something light you might be able to manage. Some yogurt maybe, or a soft cereal with milk."

Monica nodded. She did not feel like eating, but did not want to let Anne down.

"I could try."

"Just remind yourself where it came from," Anne said. "Tell yourself it is a natural food product and that no one or nothing was hurt in the process of making it."

"I'll give it a go."

"And there's one more thing," Anne said. She paused and took hold of one of Monica's hands. "Have you weighed yourself at all since you've been back?"

"No."

"I think you should. I realise you probably don't want to hear this, and with everything you have on your mind right now it doesn't feel all that important, but I really do think you need to keep a close watch on your weight. I worked as a nurse for over 40 years and in that time I never saw anyone as emaciated as you are now. And I'm not trying to scare you, only encourage you to keep a close eye on things. I think we should be monitoring your weight _and _what you're eating. Does that sound fair?"

"It does."

Monica was nervous about knowing how much she weighed, but even if she did have the courage to say no to Anne, she would still have to face Scully on the same issue. And she could not fight both of them - a doctor _and _a nurse. There would be no getting around it.

"Good," Anne said, looking immensely relieved. She pushed her chair back, stood up, and then helped Monica to her feet, picking up the plate of apple as well. "Then let's go see if John has a set of scales."

XXX

When the pair re-entered the living room it was to find John pacing the carpet, with Christi nearby and Jack standing between him and the hallway they had just emerged from. It looked to Monica as though they had deliberately positioned themselves there to prevent John from charging in and interrupting. He had tears in his eyes, but this was not unusual for him now under these circumstances, and it only served to make Monica very touched that he was so worried about her. She could see the love glistening in the blue.

"Are you okay?" he asked, heading for them as soon as they emerged, Anne's arm resting around Monica's shoulders.

"I'm good," Monica replied, smiling at the look in his eyes.

And she gently detached herself from Anne's grasp and reached for him, wanting to feel his presence. They kissed briefly on the lips before she reached up around his shoulders for a hug. He sighed with relief, his chest relaxing, and he wrapped his arms around her back and held her against him, pressing another kiss to her cheek. Monica rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, and for a moment they just stayed there.

Soon, though, Monica could feel that the tension in his body was not abating, and though she herself felt relaxed after confiding in Anne, he didn't seem to be reassured by the fact that she was all right. Had he been worried about something else?

Monica gently pulled away. When she did she saw that Scully had left the position of where she had been sitting on the couch, curled up beside her mother, and was now standing beside them, a tense look on her face.

"What's the matter?"

She cast her eyes around the room, searching for one more person who didn't appear to be there.

"Where's Mulder?"

"Upstairs with your mom and dad," John said.

Monica stared. "They're here?"

"They arrived about two minutes ago," Scully said quietly. "Mulder's taken them for a talk."

A horrible vision appeared before Monica's eyes - that of her parents arriving at the house, expecting Monica to be waiting for them, only to be told by the others that she was in the study talking with Anne. How had they taken the news that she had confided in John's mother instead of them? Had they heard her crying through the door?

"And how were they?"

She looked to John for an answer, but he just shrugged, unsure.

"Can't say," he said.

"They seemed in good spirits," Scully said encouragingly. "I think they'll be okay."

"Don't look so petrified," Anne said comfortingly. "They're your mother and father, and John tells me Mulder is one of the best psychologists the FBI has ever seen. It's all going to be fine."

"Just relax and give them some time," Margaret said, coming to stand beside Dana. "It won't be done in five minutes and there's _no _point in worrying."

"You might as well finish your breakfast," Jack said, nodding toward the plate of apple still in Anne's hands.

"Right," Anne said. "But before you do - John, do you have a set of bathroom scales?"

"I think I've got an old set in the bathroom cupboard," he answered. "Want me to get 'em?"

"If you wouldn't mind."

She touched his arm in thanks and love as he went past, and as Monica watched him ascend the stairs she could see he looked a little less strained. John, like the whole of his family, operated better under conditions of action, and any purpose, even something as minor as fetching bathroom scales, was preferable to standing around just stressing. What would happen would happen and until then distraction was the best medicine.

"Could you find us a pen and paper?" Anne asked Jack.

"Coming right up," Jack said, and retreated in the direction of John's study.

"Slip off your shoes and socks," Anne said, turning back to Monica and putting an arm around her again. "We'll just get a rough estimate for now. You can do it properly next time you go for a shower."

Monica had no choice, and went to sit on the armrest of Charlie's chair to remove her shoes and white socks. She put her plate of browning apple on the coffee table and then slipped off her jacket as well, thinking she might as well get the closest reading possible. Scully watched silently from her mother's side, not needing to ask what was going on.

John emerged from upstairs with an ancient set of bathroom scales in one hand and a folded wooden chess box in the other. He passed the scales to his mother, who thanked him, and then handed the chess box to Charlie.

"That's great," Charlie said, smiling as he took the box. "Thanks."

"What's the chess board for?" Scully asked, momentarily distracted. Monica, glancing up from peeling off her socks, could see a glint of curiosity in her eye and knew instantly that Charlie had been right. She had to work to stop herself from smiling as she finished the job.

"We thought you might like a game," Charlie said honestly.

Scully looked confused - caught between her strong temptation and the logical fact that it didn't add up that Charlie chose now of all times to challenge her to a game of chess.

"Be reasonable," Bill said. "We're here all day, you can't write the statement for Kimberly until Mulder's back, and he could be several hours for all we know."

"For old time's sake," Charlie said. "Don't you remember how we used to play with Dad?"

Scully smiled to herself - an expression that quickly melted into wistfulness, recalling the golden days of her childhood.

Anne placed the scales on the open carpet, and then moved to the coffee table with the pen and paper fetched by Jack. There she drew up a rough table for recording weight, and put Monica's name at the head of one line.

"What did you weigh before this started?" Anne asked her.

"About 127," Monica said.

"But a lot of that would've been muscle," John said. "Could be a lot less now."

"Well we'll find out," Anne said.

She scribbled down 127 beside Monica's name and then looked up to John.

"Take your shoes and socks off. I'd like to check your weight, too."

John didn't protest, but just shrugged one shoulder before sitting down and reaching for his shoes. But then, Monica thought, he did not have so much to worry about. He was definitely thin, but he was not as bad as herself and Scully.

"Do you know what you weighed before this began?" Anne asked.

"No idea," John replied, neatly placing his shoes side by side under the coffee table and reaching for his socks.

"We should check yours too," Mrs Scully said, looking to her daughter.

"I already have," Scully said.

"What was it?" John asked, standing up again, bare footed.

"It was lower than it was previously," Scully said evasively. "But just as you'd expect."

"How low is low?" Tara asked.

"Low enough she won't tell us," Charlie said, watching his sister.

"Must be bad," Bill said.

"I have it all under control," Scully said smoothly.

"No dice, Dana," John said, moving toward her.

Monica stood up as well. "If we get humiliated, then so do you."

Scully's eyes bored into her own for a moment, but Monica gave her a pleading look, and after a moment Scully sighed heavily. She reached out and squeezed Monica's arm.

"I weighed 110 before this happened and I weigh 93 now."

The number did not surprise Monica. Scully was so small-framed that it was about right for her, considering what had happened. But a look of terror immediately passed over Mrs Scully's face, and even Bill and Charlie looked worried.

"It's all right," Scully said, looking at her family. "It's only temporary."

"I don't think that's so bad," Christi said, coming to her rescue. "Not for your size."

"And if you keep eating properly you'll be back to normal in no time," Jack said.

Anne scribbled down the numbers and then looked up at John.

"Jump on," she said, stretching out a hand toward him.

John went to her, and with a slight look of nervousness, stepped onto the scales. The old-fashioned dial spun and the needle finally settled.

"125," he read.

John did not sound bothered, but Monica felt uneasy with the number. For despite the fact that Scully's numbers were much lower, they were appropriate for her build. John, however, had previously been extremely muscly, and had a frame much larger than hers or Scully's. For him, the number was a little worrying.

Christi apparently had the same idea. She looked worried.

"That's a big decline from what you would've been."

He nodded. "It'll come back up again."

There was a brief awkwardness while Anne wrote down the number.

"Come here, Monica," Anne said gently, holding out a hand for her.

Monica felt her heart begin beat a lot faster as she walked toward Anne. Anne gently took her hand and stood up with her beside the scales.

"And by the way, I object to the term humiliation," Anne said, referring to Monica's earlier remark. "If I'd wanted to humiliate you I would've marched you straight upstairs and made you do it naked."

Monica at least felt glad that she had not been forced into that.

"Feel quite free to look upon this as love," Anne went on. "We're doing it because we care and want to do all we can to help."

Her kind words made Monica feel a little guilty, but she was also very touched - enough to take Anne's hand and force herself to step onto the scales. John edged nearer, and when the dial stopped swinging Anne let go of her hand. John was at her side, and his hand hovered near her own, but he did not touch her, not wanting to influence the scales.

And then Monica felt her stomach leave her.

85.

John swore. He gripped her arm.

"Oh my God," Anne said. Her eyes widened.

"What is it?" Scully asked, in her panic voice. Out of the corner of her eye Monica could see her hurrying over. When she reached them her eyes found the dial and they widened just as Anne's had. Her scared blue eyes immediately flew back up to meet Monica's. Monica could only stare, her heart hammering in her chest.

"What's it say?" Margaret Scully asked.

Anne took a deep breath to recover. She gripped Monica's shoulder.

"85," she reported quietly.

The room was scared silent.

Monica, unable to stand it any longer, stepped backward off the scales, but she stared, stunned, at the dial as it swung back to zero.

"It's okay," Anne said, recovering fast. She moved to Monica and put her arm lovingly around her waist. "It's lower than I expected, but at least we know now. We can work on it."

Her words snapped John out of his stunned stupor and he moved back to her and put his arm around her shoulders to comfort her. But he could still find no words and Monica was still too stunned to do anything but look at the still dial and feel her heart pound away beneath her rib cage. John kissed her on the temple, but Monica barely felt it.

"It explains everything," Scully said, with an air of all the puzzle pieces falling into place. "That's why you've been feeling so weak all the time."

Anne left John holding Monica and moved to the piece of paper on the coffee table. She wrote down the number.

"And that won't even be an accurate figure," Charlie said worriedly, staring at the sheet. "You can probably take off another pound for her clothing."

"You're going to have to start eating more, Monica," Bill said.

Scully threw him a silencing look that was near lethal, and in her expression Monica could see quite plainly that Scully knew exactly what was happening. She understood perfectly.

Bill sensed at once that he had said something tactless and fell silent again.

"We should monitor her blood pressure, too," Scully said, and leaned down, took the pen from Anne and scribbled on the sheet.

Monica could not read it from her distance, and did not want to know, but Anne's eyes immediately shot up to Scully's.

"That's her blood pressure?"

Scully nodded.

Monica had not previously known that Anne had been a nurse, but looking at Scully now, Monica could see that she _had _known. The looks they were sharing, intense with unspoken communication, said nothing else. It made Monica feel like she was on her deathbed, but as soon as the thought occurred she shut it off. She did not want to know what the two of them were thinking. She would trust them. She had enough on her mind already.

"All right," Anne said, pulling herself together with another deep breath. She folded up the paper. "Well we won't get anywhere staring."

She stood up and moved toward Monica and John again, taking John's elbow in her hand.

"Do you mind if I borrow her a moment?"

"If you have to," he said, making a feeble attempt at a joke.

But his expression was so concerned and full of love that he turned to Monica and leaned in for a kiss first. Monica put her hands on his hips and gladly accepted the kiss, needing his comfort, not caring that his whole family were watching them. It was a soft kiss, lingering and delicate, and when he broke it he drew her even further against him for a tender hug, her face pressed into his neck.

"You'll be okay," he whispered to her. "We'll help you."

Monica kissed his neck softly, and he returned it with one to her hair.

She lingered there a little longer before finally forcing herself to pull away. When she did, it was to see that Anne, Jack, Christi, and Mrs Scully were all smiling at them, so much so that Monica couldn't help smiling herself. It gave her a warm feeling to know that they approved of their relationship, and were not freaking out as her own parents were doing.

"Come here," Scully said, moving toward her, and Monica found herself hugging Scully, the smaller woman's arms wrapped around her neck, hugging her gently.

"Don't worry about a thing, okay?" Scully said into her ear. "Everything will be fine."

The fact that Scully felt the need to reassure her told her quite plainly that everything was _not _fine, but Monica appreciated the words and the hug all the same, because the truth was that her own weight did scare her, and the look on Scully and Anne's faces over her blood pressure made her glad that they had hidden the numbers from her.

The two women parted, and Anne stepped back toward her.

"Come on, come into the kitchen a moment."

A minute later and Monica was standing in the kitchen with Anne, with the sliding doors closed. Anne went straight to the fridge, opened it, and pulled out a tub of strawberry yogurt.

"Do you think you could manage this?"

"Yeah," Monica said, taking the container from her. She went to the spoon drawer.

Anne shut the fridge door again.

"Good," she said. "I'd like you to eat all of it, and finish that apple as well if you can. And I need you think about other foods you feel you might cope with. You can handle fruit and salads ... but what other things, like soup?"

"I think I could do soup," Monica said. The truth was she had never been a big fan of soup, but under the current circumstances she had to eat something. Whilst previously Monica had had no appetite at all, she now knew she would have to eat regularly if she was going to fight off that look on Anne and Scully's faces. And soup was a safe liquid, and was comfortingly hot in this icy weather.

"Okay, well how about you try some of that later? We could cook you up some vegetable soup, and a slice or two of bread to go with it."

Monica nodded.

"How would you feel about fish?"

"No," Monica said, shaking her head firmly. "No meat."

Anne rubbed her shoulder.

"All right," she said. "No meat. What about rice, or pasta?"

"Maybe rice," Monica confirmed.

"Are there some Mexican dishes you think you could eat? Something we could make?"

Monica smiled to herself.

"There are, but I've never really learned to cook them," she said, feeling a little embarrassed. "My mother's the expert."

"Then I'll ask her later when I have a word."

Monica peeled the foil off the top of her yogurt and opened the cupboard beneath the sink to put it in the bin.

"We'll have to have a brainstorm," Anne said. "But for now ... if you have the yogurt, some fruit, vegetable soup, and if we make you a salad later on ... is that enough?"

"More than I could ever eat," Monica said, dipping her spoon into the yogurt.

Anne put her arm around her. "I know it's tough, but just try your best, okay?"

"Okay."

"And don't forget your medication. We don't want it coming back up."

XXX

**_Chapter 46 - The Calm Before the Storm_**

"Keep going."

John nodded pointedly to the tub of yogurt in Monica's hands. They were sharing an armchair, her curled up sideways in his lap with his arm wrapped around her skinny waist. She had been forcing the spoon to her mouth for a few minutes now, but the level in the plastic tub had only sunk halfway before she sighed and let the spoon rest in the tub.

"Eat all of it, Monica," Scully ordered firmly, watching them from her position between her mother and Bill.

John was pleased to see that Scully was doing a little better than she had been an hour ago. He knew this was in part due to the fact that her family had seized on Monica's advice and hadn't stopped dishing out the physical affection since she had emerged from the shower. Mrs Scully had her arm around Scully's shoulders, and Scully was leaning against her and soaking it in. Even Bill was making an effort. He had taken her hand when Mulder had disappeared upstairs with Monica's parents, and though Scully had looked at him in surprise, she had covered it quickly and was yet to pull her hand away.

"I'm trying," Monica said. "I just have no appetite."

"That's natural," Anne said. "You've been on the point of starvation for two weeks, your body's been ready to shut down. But you'll have to eat it if you want your strength back."

John, with one hand, grabbed the spoon and scooped up some yogurt. He raised it to her mouth.

"Open up."

Monica smiled at him, amused.

"You're going to feed me?"

"If you aren't," John replied.

Her smile made it all worthwhile, and for a second her brown eyes just twinkled mischievously into her his own, and he thought she was actually going to let him feed her. He smiled in return and tracked her mouth with the silver spoon, like how he had done years ago with Luke, encouraging him to eat. Monica laughed softly before taking the spoon from him.

"My father spots you feeding me it'll be the last nail in the coffin."

John wondered whose coffin they were talking about, his own or Monica's. Then he thought that it might even be both of them and smiled, thinking that if they were both in the same coffin it might not be all that bad.

"What are you smiling at?" Christi asked, watching him with an amused look as she finished the last corner of her toast.

"Nothing," he said, wiping the smile from his face.

"Liar," Christi said. She pushed the remaining mouthful of toast into her mouth and smiled knowingly. John couldn't help smiling back.

"Anyway," Jack said to Monica, "if you're worried about upsetting him, maybe you shouldn't snuggle up in John's lap."

Monica forced herself to swallow another mouthful of yogurt, and then smiled at John, studying his reaction. She made no move to shift herself, but John tightened his grip around her waist just in case.

"I'll manage," Monica said. "We'll hear him in time."

She dropped the spoon back into the tub and leaned down for a quick kiss. John happily supplied it, and absorbed another heart-stopping display of finesse from Monica. Even her small kisses were completely disarming. He had never been with a woman who kissed as well as Monica. None of the others had come even close. When she pulled away, he felt dizzy and wondered the hell his logical brain had gone. All he wanted to do was to pick her up and move themselves to somewhere secluded where he could finish the process.

Monica - hair tucked behind her ears - grinned at him and he realised that something must be showing on his face. She looked pleased with herself.

He heard Charlie's voice say, "You're going to torture him all day, aren't you?"

Monica's grin slipped a little wider and, ignoring her yogurt and their audience, leaned in and claimed his lips again. John thought he been more ready for it this time but when it arrived open-mouthed, and more firm and deliberately teasing, he lost himself again and kissed her back just as passionately. He could taste the yogurt. It wasn't half bad. He forgot completely about all the people in the room - until Mrs Scully broke the silence.

"You won't find any food down there," she joked.

Monica, with a display of mercy he was grateful for, pulled away. But she was still smiling widely and he thought he could see her ego expanding right then and there.

Scully piped up with, "You're worried about your father spotting John feeding you, but you're not worried about him spotting that?"

The look on her face was one John was accustomed to seeing when she was looking at Mulder, having had something thrown at her that was completely illogical and therefore made no sense.

Monica couldn't even formulate a reply, and Scully just smiled at them both.

John, feeling as if he had now lost all his dignity, tried to fend off the smiles around the room and struggled to refocus attention on the issue at hand. He grabbed the spoon and scooped up more yogurt.

"_Eat_," he said, lifting it up a little. He tried to avoid everyone's eyes, especially his mother's. She looked happier than John could remember seeing her in years.

Monica, still smiling to herself, returned her attention to finishing her yogurt. In the armchair opposite, Charlie set the chessboard on the coffee table and looked to his sister.

"You want a game?"

Scully considered it for a moment, and John could see the temptation in her eyes, but then she shook and sighed.

"No, I don't think I'm up for it."

"Come on," he said, opening the box to reveal all the wooden pieces. "I'll let you play white."

"No, I uh -"

She drifted off, not even able to find an excuse. John could see her defences rapidly weakening in the face of temptation.

"Go on," Mrs Scully urged with a smile, giving her a squeeze with the arm she had tenderly wrapped around her daughter.

"You know Mulder will be a while," Bill said.

"Unless you're scared," Charlie said. He had turned over the board and was now arranging the two armies into lines on their relevant squares.

"I'm not scared," Scully said, taking the bait in one swift swoop. "I just -"

Charlie grinned. "Yes?"

Scully lost her vocabulary, and just stared at Charlie in irritation.

"You've gotten wussy in your old age, Dana," Bill teased.

Scully turned her head to look at her older brother. John could see her frustration reaching the point of eruption. Then, she suddenly shifted forward to the edge of her seat, and with a look so reminiscent of the determined Special Agent Dana Scully, and as if she had suffered nothing in the past month, she reached for the chess board and spun it around 180 degrees so Charlie was faced with the white pieces.

"You take first move," she said confidently. "I won't need it."

John shared a smile with Monica, who was scraping the bottom of her yogurt tub.

"Wanna bet?"

"How much?"

"It's not money I had in mind," Charlie said. In response to her look of curiosity, he said, "If I win, I want you to answer a question for me. And before you ask, it's not anything to do with what happened to you on the mountain or how you're feeling now."

Scully looked wary. "And if _I_ win?"

"If you win," Charlie went on, "I'll tell you something I've never told you before. Something to do with Dad I know you'll want to hear."

John could see her curiosity was piqued.

"What's the question?"

"You'll find out if you lose."

"If I'm going to play I want to know in advance."

Charlie shrugged. "At the FBI the other night, why did Monica's eyes nearly pop out of her head when I mentioned Jack Willis?"

Scully's eyes found Monica's, and Monica just smiled conspiratorially.

"I'd say it's irrelevant," Scully said, turning back to look at Charlie over the top of the ready chess board.

"And I'd say evasive answers like that usually mean you're hiding something," Charlie countered. "Like your weight loss."

They met eyes for several seconds. Finally, John saw Scully's determination sharpen even further.

"Are you going to move or what?"

With a grin, Charlie reached forward to move his first piece.

XXX

Half an hour later the game was still in full swing. The swift moves that had dominated the first few minutes of play had gradually eased into long, thoughtful silences in which both of them simply analysed the board and strategised, their eyes darting from piece to piece. And it turned out they both played a mean game of chess. John was not a great player, but twice he saw a look horror on Charlie's face, and an accompanying smile on Scully's, as he narrowly avoided disaster, spotting her plan just in time. Once the same happened to Scully. The casualties lined up by the side of the board were about ten for each colour, and so John had difficulty knowing who was winning. Ordinarily his money would have been firmly resting on Scully, except that Charlie had inherited the same genius brains as she had, and so they were reasonably well-matched.

Nevertheless, it was very successful in distracting her, removing her attention from the heaviness of their trauma. It was also very successful in something else - putting Monica to sleep.

About ten minutes into the game, when Monica had finished her yogurt and half of the apple pieces, she had rested her head against his shoulder, shifting her position in his lap to a more comfortable one where her knees were sideways into his hip, and her bare feet sticking off the edge of the chair. Five minutes after that John noticed that her breathing had slowed, and the sleep that had eluded her for most of the night had finally seized its chance to claim her.

"Is she asleep?" Anne asked quietly.

John nodded and his mother got up and removed the dirty dishes from her lap, taking them to the kitchen.

Tara, who was sitting nearest to them on the couch and had been watching the game with an expression of boredom, also got up. She crossed the two steps toward them and very carefully wrapped one hand around Monica's right bare foot.

She immediately looked worried.

"She's freezing."

Across the room John saw Christi get up and fetch the socks Monica had abandoned earlier. She passed them to Tara, who slipped them onto Monica's feet, before crossing to a blanket in the corner of the room and bringing it back. She unfolded it a little, and then draped it gently around Monica, who did not stir.

John helped tuck it around her and then resumed holding her. It was nice to just spend time holding her in his arms, especially now he had full permission to hold her as much as he liked.

"Margaret, can I have a word?"

John's mom had come back in the room, and indicated for Mrs Scully to leave with her again.

"Will you be okay a moment?" Mrs Scully asked Dana, who looked up as if she hadn't heard the any words spoken.

"Yeah," Scully said, returning her attention to beating Charlie. "I'm fine, go on."

Mrs Scully dropped a kiss on her before getting up and following Anne and Jack to the kitchen, where the three of them closed the doors.

Scully exchanged a look with John. They both knew whatever it was was to do with Monica, but John wasn't sure he even wanted to know. He trusted his mom to take care of it, just like his mom had now taken Monica under her wing and was helping to make sure she ate properly - a subject both he and Scully had been hesitating to raise.

Scully returned her attention to the game as Charlie took one of her bishops. She did not look bothered, and had obviously been expecting the move.

"I can see this is going to end in tears," Christi said, watching the intense concentration on Scully and Charlie's faces. "Someone's ego is going to take a dive."

"That's okay," Charlie said, smiling at her. "It won't be mine."

"You're overconfident," Bill said, who had been watching the game and enjoying it almost as much as his siblings. "I think she's got you cornered."

Scully threw Bill a grateful smile, but her attention returned almost immediately to the game. She could not afford to joke around.

Charlie executed his next move, and Scully responded straightaway by sweeping her queen across the board and collecting one of Charlie's knights - the one that had been doing most of the attacking on the front line of the battlefield.

Charlie's face fell.

"Damn," he said, rubbing his forehead. "I didn't see that."

"Obviously," Scully said, a note of triumph in her voice as she set the knight aside.

Charlie's eyes darted around the board, searching for a way out.

"Would you like to surrender?"

"No," Charlie said quickly. "It's not over yet."

But Scully smiled to herself, and for the first time since it all began, sat back in her seat a little and relaxed. Her eyes crossed to Monica, asleep in his lap, and then glanced at the kitchen doors before going up the stairs to the quiet hallway. The tense, worried look returned to her eyes, and if John didn't have Monica asleep on top of him, he would have gone to her. Luckily, though, Tara spotted it and took their mother's place beside her on the couch, slipping an arm around her.

"I think you're history," Bill said to Charlie.

"I think I am too," Charlie said, with a sigh.

Scully gave a brief smile, but she did not gloat, and ten minutes later, the prophecy came true as she completed her final move and had the king in check mate.

Charlie leaned back in his seat.

"Are you all right?" Christi asked.

"I was just out of practice," he said. "Haven't played in a while."

"You're making excuses," Bill said. "She beat you, fair and square."

"She did," Charlie said, kind in defeat. "Congratulations, Dana."

Scully nodded. "Now you can tell me whatever you were going to tell me."

Charlie smiled. "I ran into Brian Macauley a few months ago. He's the -"

"Former Captain of the USS Ohio," Scully finished. "I had no idea he was still around."

"Well he's getting old now," Charlie said. "He was visiting his family on the base. But we ran into each other - he recognised me - and we got talking. He asked after you, and went off on a trail about the old days when we were kids and he was working with Dad, before he got transferred."

Scully waited.

"Well don't keep her in suspense," Christi said, giving him a nudge with her elbow and throwing Scully a sympathetic smile.

"Long story short, he said he remembers how Dad used to always talk about you. He said he talked about all of us, but especially you. He says there were times when things were quiet and they missed home, and got talking about family life, stories mom had sent about what was happening, and he said Dad would glow with pride. He said Dad had a photo of you in his wallet."

"He didn't," Scully said quietly.

"That's what I thought," Charlie said. "He didn't have photos of any of us in there, you know him, he wasn't the sentimental type. But apparently he did, tucked away, and he was. Brian said he tried not to show it to people, but when there was no one around he used to say how he missed us, missed you. He remembered how they sailed out a week before your graduation, changed the schedule so they left port early. You were upset he was missing it, and he said he'd never seen Dad so annoyed in all his career. He'd wanted to be there for you. He wanted to leave."

Scully was listening in teary-eyed silence. John had an inkling of how she had worshipped her father, but this was the first time he had heard someone speak of it aloud.

"It was all so long ago," Scully said at last, sighing as Tara rubbed her back. "It feels like a million years."

"We've all changed," Charlie said, "but the fact of how much Dad loved you never will. Mom told me once you were wondering if he was ever proud of you after you ditched medicine. You have your answer now."

"And the funny thing is," Scully said, looking up with wet eyes, "is that now I know it doesn't matter."

"You don't care?" Tara asked, surprised.

"No, I care," Scully said. "I just had it all wrong. I've made all the same mistakes he did. I've gone through much of my life craving achievement, wanting the rewards and recognition, wanting my name to be something that's respected. And now I have it, only to realise it's not what counts. Everyone in the world knows my name, and I couldn't care less."

"Then what does count?" Christi asked.

"This," Scully replied quietly. A tear slipped from one eye. "Just this. Having someone to love you, having a family and friends who care." She looked around at Bill and Charlie. "We might have our differences, might have had our arguments and misunderstandings, but you're here right now. And that's far and away more than most people have. More than Monica has."

Her eyes found Monica again, wrapped up in the blanket and John's arms. She was still asleep. Her eyes then met John's, and there were a thousand things he wanted to say to her, but he couldn't find the words to form any of them.

More of Scully's tears slipped out. She took a deep breath.

"I want to tell you I love you," she said, voice shaking with tears as she looked between her two brothers and Tara. "When we were up there, thinking we were going to die, I thought of you. And of Matthew and Lizzie. And of Mom and Dad and all the times we've shared. And I realised that that's what matters. We didn't think of the X-Files, of our past promotions and paper qualifications. We thought of our memories, the people we were going to leave behind. And I realised that for much of the past 37 years, I've been chasing a false ideal."

"Then we're lucky," Charlie said, reaching out and taking her hand. "Most people in the world have no idea _what _they're chasing. It's all an illusion in the end."

"We love you too," Tara said, squeezing her.

"Absolutely," Bill added, and he, too, gave her a slightly awkward hug which Scully returned affectionately.

"And we'll love you no matter what lies ahead as well," Charlie put in, before sidestepping the coffee table and leaning down to share a hug and kiss with his sister. "You don't have to hide anything."

There was a short silence. Scully wiped her eyes. When she emerged again, her eyes fell on the chess board and she smiled before her returning her gaze to Charlie.

"Jack Willis was one of my instructors at the FBI Academy. We had an illicit relationship."

"I thought so," Charlie said.

There was a pause.

"And?" Christi prompted, when neither of Scully's brothers had the guts to ask themselves.

Scully smiled at Christi. "And he was lousy in bed." She took a deep breath. "But he was good company. He was a kind heart in an army of stampeding indifference. After the long days in the classroom we used to get talking. He took an interest in me, shared some stories from cases he'd worked on. He helped me learn, answered my thousand questions. And we became very good friends."

"And what happened?" Tara asked.

"I eventually moved on."

"And what happened to him?" Bill asked. "Where is he today?"

"Dead," Scully replied. At their looks of shock, she went on. "He was cremated at Whitby Cemetery, and his remains went to his family in Miami."

There was another pause.

"How do you handle it?" Christi asked eventually. "Losing _so _many people."

Scully's eyes found John's, and for the first time since their talk had begun, John felt comfortable in responding.

"We don't."

XXX

**_Chapter 47 - The Storm_**

When Mulder descended the stairs with Monica's parents, he felt a dozen or so sets of eyes from the living room area lock onto him. But Mulder ignored all of them, and focused all his attention on Mr and Mrs Reyes. They had talked for over an hour, or rather he had talked with the two of them listening in silence, and at the end of the hour he had suggested the two of them leave the house for a little while, either for a walk, or perhaps to go for a refreshing lunch, and think things over. He did not want them to act hastily, but to take the time to digest what he had said.

"Think it over," he said, turning in the hallway at the front of the house to shake hands with Monica's father.

"We will," her father said. "We'll be back in a little while."

Her father shook Mulder's hand, but Mulder could feel the gesture was not in appreciation. When Mulder turned to Julieta Reyes, she did not meet his eyes and instead left straight for the door with her husband. Mulder stood alone in the little hallway and watched as the two of them disappeared out into the icy weather, hugging their coats around them. A gust of freezing wind slammed him as they opened the door and then they were gone into the carrying voices of the screaming media leaning over the picket fence.

The door shut again, and Mulder, his entire body feeling heavier than it ever had in his life, could only turn a little and lean flush against the wall. He closed his eyes and for a moment tried to lock his mind onto some therapeutic thoughts, the few from his life that would not harm him: running along beaches with Samantha, her hair flying behind her; being hugged by his mother at his university graduation, her eyes shining bright with love and pride; and the first time he had slept with Scully, lying sweaty in his bed with her hot naked body draped over his.

_Oh Scully _... his heart ached with so much pain. He did not want to return to the living room, to have to explain to her. He didn't want to have to ever face his three friends again.

If only time would freeze.

If only they could wind it all back, all be carefree children again playing in the sun with their siblings, not a worry in the world. Unacquainted with death and tragedy, a demon they should never know ...

_No, no, no_ ...

"Mulder?"

He kept his eyes clenched tight shut, but he felt Scully's gentle hand on his arm, small and light.

"Scully ..."

His whole body felt so heavy. Even his lungs and his heart felt like lead, and he found himself wishing they would stop altogether, so all the pain would go away ... so he could not have to face what he knew they were going to have to face ...

"How'd it go?"

Her voice was worried, and her hand gripped him tighter. Her other one fell on his other arm. He could feel she was standing directly in front of him.

He forced himself to open his eyes and his vision was immediately hazy with tears. He saw her looking at him, almost afraid to ask. He also saw Anne, Jack and Margaret to his right - the three heads of the families, looking at him with such overwhelming concern he had to look away again. They were the type of parents Monica deserved. The type who had rushed to Vancouver immediately, who loved their children unconditionally and would overcome every problem the trauma would throw their way. They loved their children, and now even each other's children ... somehow they were all one now, except for Monica ...

"Mulder, you're scaring me," Scully said, wide blue eyes studying his face.

He knew he should answer, only he couldn't. He tried to pull himself together only to find their was nothing he could heal the wounds with, no strength left in reserve.

And then he was falling, falling ... falling hysterically to his knees, tears streaming down his face and his body shaking.

His body hit something solid - Scully's body - and she wrapped her arms tight around him and then his face was in her shoulder and he cried for the whole world. For what they had been through, for everyone, and for Monica.

"Shhh ... shhhh ..."

There were other hands touching him. Scully only had two and they were both planted on his back. Anne, Jack and Margaret had all crouched beside them and were soothing as best they could. Margaret's loving touch, Jack's confident one, Anne's so familiar as if she had lived a thousand of these moments. And she had, Mulder knew she had.

_God oh God oh God ..._

And then after minutes of crying, of being rocked by Scully and drowning her entire shoulder, the pain was still so intense the tears did not help. And as quick as he had collapsed into their hug, he now tried to fight his way out, pulling back from her and leaning his body back against the wall. He tried to take a deep breath, clenching his eyes shut again as he did, and when he opened them he found Scully, Anne, Jack and Margaret all watching with fear-filled eyes.

Margaret held his shoulder.

"What happened?"

"We've got problems," he choked out. "Big problems."

"They didn't listen," Scully concluded.

He didn't need to answer. He tried to take another deep breath to stifle the pain.

"Where've they gone now?" Jack asked.

"I asked them to think it over," Mulder said. "Take a break before they talk to her."

"And you're not hopeful," Anne said.

Mulder shook his head. "The relationship's been broken for years. Practically since she hit puberty. All this ... it's just a catalyst. And now they'll come back, and ... they're going to kill her ..."

"No, they won't."

Anne's voice was suddenly strong.

"It's all over," Mulder tried to explain. "They won't get it. They don't _want _to get it. They were a family in her childhood, but they're practically strangers now."

"Okay," Anne said. "But if there _is _trouble it's not the end. Whatever comes will come, but we're still here. And no matter how far and hard she falls we'll _remain _here. We'll never leave her. We'll never leave any of you."

In another time Mulder would have been touched, but the thought was idealistic now.

"You aren't her mother," he said, with an apologetic look. "No matter how much you love her. Parents aren't like a vase you can just replace if your own breaks."

"Luke wasn't a vase either," Jack said. "We couldn't replace him. But we found a way to move on."

"We'll look after her," Margaret agreed, eyes intense with emotion. "No matter what it takes."

"Don't give up, Mulder," Scully said. "You can't give up."

XXX

It happened sooner than Scully had expected. Less than half an hour after Mulder's breakdown in John's front hallway - which Monica had, luckily, slept right through - and Monica's parents were knocking back on the front door again. Unlike other times, no one rushed to answer it, and in the end it was Bill who volunteered to go unlock it for them. He took his time, and when Scully, her hand locked tight with Mulder's, heard Bill answer the door, she heard him put on a friendly manner, but it achieved no good. Seconds later, the pair of them were walking into the living room, and their eyes set on Monica, still curled up in John's lap with the blanket over her to keep her warm.

"Monica?" her father asked. He leaned over her and touched her shoulder, all the while ignoring John. Scully knew he despised him, as he did all of them now.

"Yeah?" Monica asked, lifting her head from John's shoulder and looking around, dazed, for the source of her name.

"Can we have a word?" her mother asked. Her face was so solid Scully thought someone would be able to carve into it.

Monica looked confused for a split second. So much time had passed and she was apparently unaware she had even fallen asleep in John's lap. She looked to John, then up at her parents, then glanced around the room where her eyes lingered on Scully and Mulder. Her face went from sleepy to alert and worried in a split second.

"A word?" her father repeated.

Monica, heart of gold, tried to be friendly.

"Of course," she said. She shrugged off the blanket and climbed out of John's arms. She put a hand on his shoulder as she did, a gesture telling him not to worry, but it did no good. John was as scared shitless as everyone else. He knew. The only one who didn't know was Monica.

The three Reyeses went to the kitchen. Julieta Reyes went to pull the doors shut, but Scully called out.

"Monica?"

Monica turned around. Scully's heart was thumping away in her chest and she struggled to twist her tongue to form any words. She wanted to tell her they loved her, but it would sound inadequate.

"It's okay," Monica said lightly, smiling at her and throwing her a wink.

And that was all she could say before her parents lassoed her further into the kitchen and both doors were closed.

"Shit," John said instantly. "Holy shit."

He got to his feet and began pacing in the same fashion that Scully had seen him do a hundred times during the week - all of them in circumstances concerning Monica. Suddenly Scully became sympathetic to it, and she found her own feet, unable to sit there any longer. Her feet carried her to the closed doors, and she stood there with her arms crossed. Mulder joined her at her side.

Then Scully heard the three family members begin to talk, but it was all in Spanish, and she looked around, searching for Christi, only to find that Christi had already emerged next to Mulder, her hand gripping his elbow.

They all listened. Christi was frowning in concentration. The Spanish coming from the other side of the doors was very rapid.

"Can you understand?" John asked, arriving at her side.

"_Shh_," she said, motioning for him to be quiet.

They all fell quiet. For several minutes, the voices were relatively calm, albeit in an urgent, fast tone. But as the time passed and more people in the room got to their feet, unable to relax, the voices became raised. Monica's father was shouting at her. It sounded like he was shouting questions, and Monica began shouting in response, words flying off her tongue in anger equal to that of her parents'. Here and there, Monica's mother chimed in with a question of her own, and Monica flattened those as well. And then, after another few minutes, the questions from her parents ceased, and Monica arrived on a huge angry tirade of Spanish, voice raised even further in fury, and her parents unable to squeeze a word in edgewise.

"Oh my God," Christi said.

Scully pulled her gaze away from the doors and saw that Christi was looking wide-eyed and horrified.

"What is it?" Mulder asked quickly.

"Everything," Christi said, her chest heaving with horror as she listened. "She's telling them everything."

"What's everything?" John asked, searching Christi's face for answers.

But Christi just shook her head slowly in shock and didn't answer.

"Oh my God," she said again. She began to shift on the spot. Scully could see she almost did not want to listen. She wanted to turn away and not have to hear it, to listen to the horror of what had happened to them, but she had to stay. She began to pace like John, walking back and forth in front of the doors as Monica's voice raised itself another octave. Christi had her hands on her hips, over her face, pushing back her hair even though it was already pushed back.

Scully felt her own mother stop at her side, arm around her in comfort and restraint. Anne was holding onto Mulder's arm, Jack remained close to John.

And then Monica's tirade ended, and it was replaced by more of her father's. He shouted furiously fast Spanish at her, and then, suddenly, Christi stopped pacing, and Scully saw her face change from horrified to furious. She stopped dead still.

"Christi?" Scully asked.

Christi ignored her.

Monica began screaming in response, but her father cut her off again, this time mingled with a few shouts from her mother, joining the argument on her father's side.

Christi's face hardened yet again.

Without warning, she raised a hand and knocked hard on the door.

"Monica, you okay?"

Monica's voice was one of forced calm. "I'm fine, Christi. We just need some space."

Now, Scully realised that Monica did not know Christi understood Spanish. She thought no one outside of her parents did, that whatever they were screaming about was understood only by her parents.

"Fine my ass," Christi muttered angrily.

But she did not open the door. Monica had effectively told them to stay back, and they had no choice but to respect her wishes.

But the screaming continued. As soon as Monica had answered Christi, her father started up again. For several minutes he shouted alone, letting off steam. Scully thought it would never end, and when it did it was only to hear something more terrifying than the fighting: silence.

Monica's mother asked a question, and when Monica found her voice again, Scully's heart twisted in agony as she heard the tears in her friend's voice. She was crying as she yelled.

"Oh God," John said, in agony equal to Scully's. Scully glanced at Mulder and could see his heart breaking as well.

And then Monica's father began screaming yet again, on a path of accusations at least as long as the others. Scully locked her eyes onto Christi, the only hint of what it was all about. But Christi's face was still with fury. She had her arms crossed against her chest, and her face was uglier than Scully had ever seen it.

Monica interrupted her father, tears still in her voice, and began to scream in response, but he cut her off again.

And then, with one swift move, Christi snapped. She reached for the handles, threw open the doors so hard they BANGED and rebounded, and stormed into the room, screaming in Spanish of her own.

Monica was standing near the sink. The tears were pouring down her red face. Christi hurried to stand in front of her, and pushed Monica back defensively behind her, taking over the fight on Monica's behalf. Monica remained still, her face registering complete shock at both her parents' hurtful words and the fact that Christi knew Spanish.

Scully began to edge into the room, heading for her, but she did not get the chance to reach her.

Christi lost all control.

"OUT!" Christi screamed, pointing toward the door. "GET OUT!"

Neither of them moved. Her father yelled more Spanish.

"GET OUT!"

He tried again.

"OUT!"

Monica's mother shouted, her hard, heartless face red with fury.

"_OUT_!"

There was silence. Though it was seconds, Scully watched it as if it all happened in slow motion. There was Monica, standing behind and just to the side of Christi, her face looking as though her heart had been torn in two, tears streaming down her face, numb. There was Christi, one hand on Monica's elbow from when she had pushed her behind her, and the other pointed to the door. And then there were Monica's two parents, faces set in anger, not having absorbed a single pleading word of Mulder's, screaming at a daughter they had long lost.

For seconds they stared. Christi showed no signs of backing down. And then, at long last, the Reyeses moved. Monica's mother and father turned, and with a furious walk, went for the door.

"We're going home," Mr Reyes threw at Scully.

The crowd barely had time to part before Mr and Mrs Reyes barged through. Scully watched them go, numb with terror, until a second later she heard the front door slam and far beyond at the picket fence the media began shouting of their own, screaming for a story they had most probably overheard, screaming for details of why Monica's parents had abandoned her.

* * *

_That was so incredibly difficult to write a fight without writing a word of what they're fighting about. I don't know if it worked, but they was no way around it. I didn't want to yet reveal what it was about and thought it was natural they would choose Spanish._

_On the bright side, this marks the end of phase one of the story. I am seriously hoping that no one is going to abandon me out of anger at what I've done. I guess I'll have to wait and see. Please?_


	20. Chapter 20

_I feel as if I should be inserting a warning for medical realism or something. I'm not sure, but I suppose there could be a slight chance that some people might be a little yucked by some of the things the doctor hints at. Hopefully not. _

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 48 - The Collapse of Monica Reyes**

For a moment no one moved. As one, they remained frozen, still in shock, as they heard the car doors on the Reyes' hired Mercedes slam shut. There was a screech of tyres, shouting from the media, and then an eerie lull where the only sound at all in the neighborhood was the clicking of a few last cameras.

Scully's heart was pounding, and in the momentous silence all she could do was slowly turn on the spot. She took in everyone's identical expressions - a heart-wrenching cocktail of fear and dread - and then her eyes found Monica. Christi's hand had fallen from her elbow, and Monica, staring in shock with wet eyes to where her parents had marched down John's front hallway, suddenly fell back against the cupboards behind her, and in a slither of fabric against wood, crumpled to the floor.

"Monica ..."

Scully jogged forward, snapping out of her reverie at the same time as John and Mulder. In a stampede of thudding feet, they hurried for her. Christi turned on the spot, and though she was only an arm's length away, John still beat all of them to Monica's side. Her chest was heaving with shallow breaths; she was on the brink of a hysterical breakdown.

John knelt in front of her and cupped her face urgently in his hands.

"It's okay," he said, fast and urgent, tears in his own eyes. "It's gonna be okay."

Monica did not react. Scully did not think she had even heard or seen him. She was still staring into nothingness, not taking in any of them around her. Scully gently took Monica's cold hand in her own, but it was limp in hers. There was no indication she was sensing her touch.

"You hear me?" John continued urgently, pushing back her hair. "We're all here."

She did not react.

"Ease up, John," Christi said gently, kneeling down with them and, with a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back a little.

Scully, trying her best to counterbalance John's irrational behaviour which she knew was not helping, gently put her other hand on Monica's shoulder, trying to transmit as much gentle love as she could. Mulder, too, was touching her other shoulder, but she was not recognising his touch any more than hers.

After Christi had pried John off Monica, she situated herself directly in front of her, and very softly put her hand to the side of Monica's face, steering her head so that she could look directly into her eyes and hold them there.

"It's all lies, okay?" Christi said, as calm yet as clear as she could, though her own voice was still wavering with emotion. "It's _all _lies."

"What'd they say?" Scully asked, but Christi ignored her, as she did John and Mulder's questioning looks. She held Monica's gaze, forced her to meet her eyes.

"Do you hear me?" Christi asked her. "It was _all _lies. It was just said in the heat of the moment. None of it's true. We all _know _it's not true."

Monica, still breathing in fast, shallow breaths, suddenly focused her eyes on Christi, and when she did, she began to talk in soft, rapid, delirious Spanish. Scully tried to focus on it, hoping to catch a word or two she might know, but all she could tell was that it appeared to be the same phrase, over and over, a broken record of shock.

"No," Christi said, shaking her head and speaking with a firm tone. "No, it's all lies."

"What's she saying?" John asked, trying to catch his sister's eyes. But still, Christi ignored everyone except for Monica.

And then, with no warning, Monica jerked her head out of Christi's grip. Scully recognised the signs but had no time to react as John leapt out of the way and Monica vomited down the front of her own clothes.

Scully heard the voices of their relatives behind them.

"Oh geez ..."

"Oh no ..."

John and Christi had backed off just in time. John surged into action and leapt up to grab a hand towel from the oven railing. Mulder threw open a cupboard, snatched up the black bucket, and returned with it, holding it in front of Monica as Scully and Christi tightened their grips and held her steady to prevent her from fainting into her own mess.

Again and again she vomited into the bucket Mulder held in front of her, emptying her stomach of all the food Anne had encouraged her to eat. Scully had to tighten her grip around Monica's back as she felt her friend waver with dizziness, until she was fully supporting her and holding her upright. Christi held Monica's hair back, and John held the towel, watching helplessly with tears as Monica continued to retch noisily and the mess on her clothes soaked in before he could mop it up.

"It's okay," Scully said soothingly, giving her a reassuring squeeze as Monica paused to draw breath, sickly white and whimpering with weakness.

"Shhh..." Christi echoed, hugging her from the other side as Monica struggled to catch her breath. "It doesn't matter, we can clean it up."

Mulder pulled the bucket away a little, sensing she had finished, and John leaned in again. He cupped her sweaty and teary face with one hand and said, "It's all okay ... don't worry ...". Then his eyes travelled down to her soaked, smelly front and he shook his head to himself a little. There would be no point in trying to clean it up. Her clothes were history.

"Here, lie her down," Scully said, as she felt Monica becoming heavier and heavier. "She's going to pass out."

Behind her, she heard a zip on one of their bags being undone, and then hurried footsteps as Anne joined them with one of Monica's cotton grey tops in her hands.

"Just hold her a second longer," Anne said, kneeling between John and Christi. "Let's change her shirt first."

If Scully had been alone with her three friends, she knew Mulder and John would not have bothered leaving. They had all seen each other without clothes so many times now that it did not matter. But the presence of the crowd dictated discretion was necessary, and so John, with a sideways glance to his mother, forced himself to stand up and leave, though the look on his face told Scully plainly that it was the last thing he wanted to do. Mulder, too, stood up with reluctance, and leaving the bucket on the kitchen table, left the room.

"We'll only be a second," Scully told them, trying to convey that she knew how they felt.

"Yell when you're done," John said, pulling the sliding doors shut.

Alone now, Scully and Christi held Monica as Anne set the fresh top in her lap and then reached for the hem of Monica's vomit-soaked one.

"Raise your arms," Anne said, tucking her fingers under the dry sections at Monica's hips.

Monica did not seem to hear. Her eyes remained staring forward into nothingness, still in shock.

"Come on, Monica," Scully said, letting one hand rub her back, from which her spine and shoulderblades jutted out of her skin. "We'll make it quick."

But Monica completely ignored them.

"All right," Anne sighed gently, "we won't rush you."

Pulling her hands away from the hem of Monica's top, she instead reached for Monica's limp, cold hands. She held them both together in Monica's lap, rubbing and squeezing.

"We'll just sit with you, okay?" Anne tried, warmly holding her hands. "You take your time."

"John, come back in," Christi said softly.

The doors slid open again and John and Mulder reappeared. Scully's heart lurched as she saw that the tears that had been resting in John's eyes had slid down his cheeks now. Watching Monica breaking was causing him to break himself. Behind the two men, Scully saw the rest of their relatives edge into the doorway.

"Would it help to tell us what they said?" Anne asked, trying to catch Monica's blank eyes.

"Don't ask her, Mom," Christi said quickly.

Scully looked up at Christi.

"She doesn't want you to know," Christi explained, as Monica continued to stare blankly ahead.

But the words raised alarm bells within Scully, for the only reason she could think why Monica would not want them to know was if it was about them. Mind racing, she then realised that Monica's parents must have said something about John at least, as that only would explain why Christi had been so quickly angered and felt justified in rushing in to join their fight. The Doggetts were so extremely loyal to each other, the closest family she had ever seen, and she knew that if there had been a slur about any of one of them, the other three would have come out fighting with every weapon they could find. But Christi had been the only one to understand the Spanish, and so -

Scully's heart nearly stopped as she saw the answer right in front of her, staring her straight in the face.

She froze, looking at Christi.

"What?" she heard John ask.

"Scully?" she heard Mulder distantly echo.

After another moment of tense waiting she heard her own mother say, "Dana?"

"Oh no ..."

The words left her mouth as every muscle in her body constricted painfully. She suddenly felt Christi's agony, understood why she was looking so determined to never, ever tell them what the fight had been about. She understood why Christi had kept the fight in Spanish, even though it would have been infinitely easier for her to speak in English. She understood why Christi had ordered them out of the house. And now, in the wake of the realisation of what at least one part of the fight had been about, she too felt that she did not ever want to reveal the information. Suddenly the presence of Anne, Jack and John felt magnified a thousand times.

"Don't say it," Christi pleaded, looking nervous as she saw Scully's realisation.

Scully agreed fully that she did not want to say it, and yet understood with a feeling of incredible dread that it was totally unavoidable. John and Mulder would never rest until they knew what Monica's parents had said, and the fact that Monica had slipped into a shocked stupor, that it was no small fight but one that had involved her parents abandoning her when she needed them the most, meant that it was not going to go away. They could not help Monica unless they knew what had been said, and to stay silent now would only lead to Monica having a complete breakdown as she kept it bottled up inside.

"We have to say it," Scully said softly, avoiding Christi's eyes. They could not help Monica until everything that had been said was out in the open. It would be painful, but there was simply no choice.

"Say what?" John asked.

Scully took a deep breath and finally forced herself to look up. She caught Christi's nervous blue eyes, then the exact same eyes she had inherited in Anne, then across the room to Jack, who was watching her closely, and then finally to John, who was waiting for her to answer.

Scully did not want to say it, but the word slipped out anyway.

"Luke."

"Luke?" John repeated, his eyes widening in a flash. His eyes flew to Christi, as if hoping for a contradiction. "They mentioned Luke?"

Scully sensed Jack step further into the room, and she glanced at him to see that his expression had also hardened. Anne, too, was no longer looking softly at Monica but straight into Christi's eyes.

Christi sighed. She was trapped.

"They were angry," she said quietly, not looking at anyone. "They said things about all of us."

"What things?" Scully heard her mother ask.

"But what about Luke?" John demanded angrily, stepping closer.

Mulder grabbed his arm.

Christi, however, did not answer her family's questioning looks, and instead looked up uneasily to the doorway, where Scully's family were standing. Scully watched, her heart clenching with fear, as Christi looked apologetically to her own mother.

"What?" Charlie asked, his eyes widening.

"They mentioned Melissa as well."

Scully felt a surge of fury shoot through her veins.

"What about her?" she asked quickly.

Christi hesitated. Scully gave her a hard look, forcing her to tell.

"They said you killed her," Christi said, in an apologetic voice barely above a whisper. "They said you were irresponsible and heartless, that you recklessly made yourself a target with no consideration for the danger it would inflict upon your family. They said you were coldly ambitious and that the FBI should have shown you the door long ago. Julieta said the snow and ice was where you belonged."

"Scully!"

"DANA!"

There were running foosteps and Bill's rough hands grabbed her shoulders as Scully had begun to furiously get up. Who she was going to kill, she did not know. But Bill pinned her hard against him. A glance around showed her Mulder had surged forward too. His hand enclosed warmly around hers and Scully felt some of the madness that had overwhelmed her suddenly ease.

"You didn't kill her," Bill said firmly into her ear. "The only person responsible is the thug who pulled the trigger."

"It's _lies_, Scully," Mulder said. "We _know _it's lies."

"But -"

"It was just some idiotic statement," Christi said. "You didn't kill Melissa any more than we killed Luke."

The statement hung in the air, silence gripped the room, and in Christi's teary expression Scully felt a flicker of kinship shine in her heart.

"Then that's what they said?" Anne asked quietly, breaking the tense silence. "That we were responsible for Luke?"

Christi nodded.

John turned around and went to the far bench. He gripped the edges with white knuckles. Tara headed for him. Anne sighed heavily and sat back, still with the pain of the accusation. Jack was like a statue, arms folded, but there was such a tenseness to his stance that Scully thought that if any object came within two feet of him it would shatter.

"There were other things," Christi said softly. "They attacked her over Brad Follmer, called her a slut. They criticised her career choice, her move to the X-Files. They said it was a stupid sacrifice, not only to attach herself to such a division but to work with you and be friends with you. They said that while you were smart, you were also obsessed, deranged and heartless. They blame you for her not being able to get back to Mexico to visit. They said you have no respect for family or people's personal lives. Then they went on about her relationship with John -"

She paused as John turned around. His face was glistening from tears that were falling in rivers. Tara's arm around him appeared to be the only thing holding him together.

"They basically called you a predator," Christi said apologetically. "They said you were taking advantage of a sick woman, like you'd forced yourself on her. They said she should know better than to attach herself to you when, because of Luke and what's happened now, you could only ever have a life laced with pain. They said she should choose someone happy with a healthy career and move on with her life. Julieta pleaded with her to come back to Mexico, but Monica told them no. She was swearing crazily at them both, she loves you all more than anything and she defended you to the hilt. But they didn't listen to her." Christi sighed. "And then they started on the rest of us. They called me a blonde bitch. Mom, they accused you of trying to steal Monica from them. Charlie, they said you were an immature boy sailing around on the seas because no woman on land wanted you - something about you being 35 and still single and childless. And Bill, they said you were an irresponsible parent, that you should be in a job where your children can grow up knowing you, and that you're an idiot now for leaving Matthew and Lizzie alone for so long, and that any responsible husband wouldn't have let their pregnant wife come here to be a part of all this. They said you're a jerk. And Margaret, they said that you - or all of you, really - were hypocrites because you paraded around declaring yourselves as Catholics when you don't behave like them. And it went on and on ... they called us names, but Monica defended all of us."

There was a long silence. Everyone in the room was seething with anger, but trying to ride out its waves and get themselves under control. On the floor beside Scully, Monica was still staring straight ahead in a tear-stained, broken-hearted stupor. She had given no indication she had heard a single word they had said. She was completely disengaged.

And then, suddenly, Jack cracked. He spun on the spot, marched straight for the coffee table where he swiped up a set of keys, and marched for John's front door.

"Jack!" Anne shouted.

The front door slammed. They could hear the media begin shouting outside.

Anne and Christi both jumped up, but before they had even taken a step, Scully saw her own mother move out from under Charlie's arm. Face set with anger, she snatched up her handbag from the couch and followed him out the door in the same furious march.

"Mom!" Scully yelled, but it was to no avail.

Charlie jogged for the front door, but Scully heard a car engine start, a second door slam shut, and moments later Charlie reappeared.

"They've gone together. They must be chasing them to their motel."

Scully's heart felt heavy with worry, but the one positive thing was that they were together, and this diminished the chances of a murder being committed and put it back into the realm of a shouting match.

"I'll call Mom," Bill said, grabbing the cordless phone.

"It's no use, you'll never stop Dad," Christi said. "Once he's in a mood like that ..."

"He'll be okay," Anne said, touching Christi's shoulder. "Let them go. They'll calm down by the time they reach DC."

There was another heavy silence, and Anne sighed before turning to look at John, whose face was still soaked but was being comforted by Tara. Christi went to join them.

"You know _none _of it was true," Anne said to him, giving him a firm look to ward off any imminent self-blame.

He nodded. "Yeah."

Anne nodded, satisfied for the moment, and then turned her attention back to Monica, who was still huddled in a vomit-dampened mess at their feet. Anne's face softened immeasurably.

"Oh, Monica ..."

She knelt back down with her. Monica gave no indication she saw her.

"Sweetheart, you didn't have to do that for us," Anne said softly, tucking Monica's hair back behind her ear. "You didn't have to carry it alone."

Scully fell to her knees beside Monica again, and put her arms around her skeletal body. It was so like Monica to try to tackle the burden alone. She had such a big heart and was completely selfless for those she loved. And now, because of that love she held for them, she had lost her own parents. Scully was under no illusions over what they now faced. She knew the nature of trauma. She understood that all lives were built upon the foundations made in early childhood - upon the love received from parents. It was on these basic foundations that a person slowly built their lives, constructing their self-confidence, their relationships, their eventual careers. Traumatic events often shattered everything a person built. Like a hurricane they levelled everything back to the foundations, so that the only thing a person had was the love from family, and it was this alone that could help their recovery. Monica, now, had lost not only her whole life she had built for the last 33 years, but this basic foundation of being able to depend on two parents who she thought would always love her. Now they had left, and their removal had put Monica in freefall.

Scully could find no words to help. There was simply nothing a person could say to comfort such an enormous pain. The only hope she had was a lesson learned from her own delirium at the hospital: she remembered how it had felt to have Monica's arms wrapped around her, could recall how it had calmed her, how much the love had helped. And so Scully now did the same in return, putting her arms around Monica, kneeling up and trying to draw her close even though Monica remained as limp as a doll, and didn't recognise anyone. Scully just hugged her, just pressed kisses to her cheeks and forehead, just stroked her hair and ignored the fact that her own hands were getting covered in sticky vomit. It did not matter. And then, without a single word, John and Mulder joined her, kneeling down around their broken friend and each hugging her as close as they could.

"We love you," John told her, kissing her firmly on the cheek. "We still love you. And we're _never _going to leave you."

Monica did not react, just continued to stare straight ahead at the wooden chair legs. But they continued to hug her. They would hug her for as long as it took to bring recognition back to her blank eyes.

And, slowly, the remaining people in the room came to join them - first Christi, then Tara, Charlie and finally Bill - all came and sat themselves down on the cold floor, showing they were with her in the only way they could. Christi reached amongst them all to find one of Monica's hands. Charlie put his hand on her knee. Anne continued to hold Monica's other hand, and though Tara and Bill could not reach Monica through the crowd they sat there nearby in complete loyalty.

"We all love you, Monica," Anne said. "I know hearing that might not help you right now, but we do love you, and you break down if you need to. We're right here for you. We're not going anywhere."

XXX

It was nearly ten long minutes later and still there was no change in Monica. She had not said anything, not looked at anyone, not even moved a muscle. As each second ticked by, Scully began to feel more and more worried for her state. They continued to hug her, yet no matter how much they did they were still not able to reach her and Scully could not help thinking that if the move was going to be a success, it would have happened in the first few minutes.

Over the top of Monica's head, Scully met Mulder's eyes, trying to convey her worry. He read her perfectly, responding to her expression by shaking his head helplessly. It was no use.

Scully sighed.

Anne, who had got up seconds before to get a glass of water, now returned with it and rejoined their circle on the floor.

"Monica," she said, gently steering her chin to look into her distant eyes, "I know you can hear us. I need you listen to me, okay? I know you're feeling incredibly down right now, I know it's hard to think about anything but the pain you're in, but I really do need you to just drink a little water for us. You've lost a lot of fluids through your vomiting and you're going to be in trouble if you don't replenish them soon."

She raised the glass to Monica's closed lips.

"Just a few mouthfuls."

Monica ignored her and kept her mouth closed.

"She's right, Monica," Scully said. "You need to drink a little water."

"Open up," John said, watching as Monica stubbornly kept her mouth closed and ignored them all.

"Just a few sips," Mulder said.

But Monica kept still. She did not even register that there was a glass of water being held to her mouth. She did not open her mouth, but she did not jerk her head away either. It was as though the water, and all the people around her, were not even there.

Anne upgraded her tone to something a little firmer.

"Open your mouth. Just one little swallow."

"For us?" John pleaded, rubbing her back, his arm just below Scully's.

There was no response.

Anne sighed. Inside, Scully felt the same as she did. The dangers were very real, and the last thing they wanted to do was to play nasty, but if Monica continued to ignore them, they would have to do so in order to save her life.

Scully saw Anne take a deep breath and hoist a firm, no-nonsense look on her face.

"All right, then I'll make you a deal. I don't want to do this, but you're leaving me no choice. You can either try to drink a little for us now, or Dana and I are going to be forced to admit you to a hospital and get a drip into you. You know the doctors won't argue with us. We don't want to - we _absolutely _want to keep you here with us - but we'll have to seek help if you refuse to drink."

It was a threat that made Scully feel a little nervous. For any other person, it would not be so much of a deal, but for Monica, who had an intense phobia of hospitals and doctors, it had the power to induce enormous fear in her. It was a slight bluff, Scully knew - it would be a few hours before they would be forced to take her to a hospital - but what Anne said was still very true. In the state Monica was in, the doctors would not argue. If anything, they would declare they were irresponsible for not admitting her earlier. She was _so _dangerously thin ...

Still Monica did not respond.

Anne exchanged a worried look with Scully. They both knew the score.

"Try her in Spanish," Mulder said to Christi.

Christi gave him a doubtful look, but then with an air of being willing to try anything, she looked into Monica's eyes and repeated Anne's threat in calm and clear Spanish.

And then - to Scully's utter amazement - Monica reacted. It was a minuscule reaction, but she turned her head a hair's width and her lips parted slightly. She did, however, remain staring blankly ahead.

Christi shot Mulder a look of surprise, but seized on Monica's reaction, taking the glass from her mother and raising it again to Monica's lips. She began talking to her in gentle Spanish, urging her to drink.

And, incredibly, Monica did open her mouth a little and allow Christi to tip a little water in.

Mulder sighed with relief. He looked as though a hunch had played off and it all made complete sense now, though it made none to Scully. Why Monica should be responding only to Spanish was a mystery when she had been bilingual her entire life.

"Can you look after her a minute?" Mulder asked Christi.

Christi nodded. Her attention was focused on Monica. She was talking to her in gentle Spanish, keeping up a steady rhythm of pouring small sips of water into her mouth.

"Tell her we're just going out of the room to talk and we'll be back in a minute."

Christi nodded again, and as Mulder tugged John to his feet and indicated for Scully to join them, Christi slipped her arm around Monica's shoulders, taking their place in holding her, and continued to talk to her in soft, loving Spanish.

Mulder indicated for Bill and Charlie to join them as well, and when the five of them reached the living room, leaving Monica with Christi, Anne and Tara, they closed the sliding doors.

Scully immediately turned to Mulder.

"How'd you know?"

"I didn't," he said, sounding just as surprised as Scully felt. "It was a guess."

"It was a lucky guess," Charlie said, looking impressed.

"But why is she not responding to English?" Bill asked.

"I don't know," Mulder said. "I'm not sure whether her mind's just locked on to the fight they had, or whether she's thinking in Spanish, or whether it's even some kind of childhood, homebound comfort to be hearing it. But either way, it's not the point. We have a _huge _problem."

Scully nodded. She lowered her voice.

"She has a very bad case of shock. I mean, just the fact that she isn't even acknowledging our presence is enough cause for concern. And even with Christi's Spanish, I don't know how we're going to draw her out again, or if it's even possible. The longer this goes on the more and more she's going to settle into it, and it's obvious her parents aren't going to come back. I mean, if it was their desertion alone she might stand a chance, but with everything else we've been through ..."

"I agree," Mulder said. "With each second that passes we're doubling the chance that she's never going to come out of it at all."

There was a pause as they each became lost in their own thoughts, struggling to find an answer. John, emotionally exhausted, shook his head after a few seconds and went to sit on the edge of the armchair. He put his head in his hands.

Scully walked over to him and put her arm around him, rubbing his back. Under her touch he emerged from his hands again, but still looked drained and depressed.

"Well what about other family?" Charlie suggested. "Her parents can't be the only relatives she has in Mexico. Maybe there's someone else we can contact who'll be more sympathetic. An aunt or an uncle, maybe. Even a cousin."

"Has she ever mentioned anyone?" Bill asked, looking around at them all.

It was another moment that made Scully realise how little they truly knew about Monica's personal life. Before the accident, she had never even known anything about Monica's parents, let alone other relatives.

"You've known her the longest," Scully said, looking hopefully to John.

"She's never talked about anyone," John said. "It's never really come up in conversation."

"Then we'll have to find out," Charlie said. "Will it be on her FBI records? Do you know who she has listed as her emergency contacts?"

"It's bound to be her parents in first place," Mulder said.

"But the form asks for three," Scully argued. "Maybe she's listed a backup." She looked to Bill and Charlie. "You know I have you listed."

John pushed himself to his feet. "I'll call the Bureau. Even if she hasn't listed anyone they'll be able to look them up for us."

"And you should probably tell them what's happened," Bill advised. "The media will be hounding them."

John nodded and left the room. As he did a cell phone rang, and the group of them looked around for a few seconds before Bill headed for Tara's handbag and dug out the phone.

"It's Mom," he said, glancing at the screen and hitting the green button to answer. "Mom, are you all right?"

He listened for several seconds.

"Yeah ... it'd be a long shot ... no, there's no change, she's not talking ... I don't know, we're trying to see if she has any other family we can call ... yeah, I know ... yeah, Dana's doing okay ... we hadn't thought of that yet, but it's probably worth a try ... how's Jack, is he ... oh, good ... yeah, okay, we'll hear from you soon, then ..."

He hung up.

"What's happened?" Scully asked.

"They've checked out of their motel," Bill reported. "The clerk at the desk told them they've already left for the airport."

Scully's heart sank. Though she had held no hope Monica's parents would return to the house, to hear it confirmed that they were fleeing the country set their worst fears into a painful reality.

"Mom and Jack are heading for the airport, they're going to try to head them off, but it's a long shot."

Mulder nodded. "A very long shot. I think the only hope we have is if the Mexican media side with Monica, shame them into regret, but even then ..."

"Even then it'd be too late to take back the damage already done," Scully said. "Even if they turned back now there'd be no change in her condition. It might even make her worse."

At that moment John came back into the room, cordless phone in his hand. He rejoined their group.

"How'd it go?" Scully asked.

"There's no one," he said simply. He looked very depressed. "Her first emergency contact is her parents, her second one's me, and her third is blank. Her mother's an only child, both parents dead, and her father has a brother, but Jana says the media reports say the family's been split for nearly 35 years. He won't even know Monica."

Scully's heart sank again.

"Jana said she's going to contact Doctor Cheung for us, get him over here ASAP. Hopefully he'll be able to help."

It was their one last ray of hope, that the world famous Doctor Cheung - number one doctor in the field of trauma - would be able to rescue Monica from the freefall she was currently in. But Scully had her doubts, too. Because she knew that if Mulder - who was a superb psychologist himself and had had the benefit of perfect understanding of Monica's trauma - could not help her, then Scully wondered whether Doctor Cheung could, either. But it was worth a try, and she clung to the hope that he would be able to do something, something they had not thought of ... a treatment she had missed ...

"In the meantime we'd better sit with her," John said. His tone was flat, his expression grim. Scully could tell John had his doubts about Doctor Cheung as well. The doctor was talented, but he was no miracle worker.

And a miracle was what they needed.

XXX

Half an hour later and Monica's mental health had deteriorated several degrees further. Mulder, along with Scully and John, had returned to her side in the kitchen to find that despite the best efforts of Christi, Anne and Tara, Monica was still practically catatonic. The three women had tried again to change her vomit-soaked shirt, but Monica was still not cooperating, and in the end they were forced to leave it on her. Mulder, Scully and John all tried to resume their stance of holding her close, hoping that their physical touch would register with her in a way that no spoken words currently were, but when they reached for her, Monica suddenly moved. For a second, Mulder's heart leapt with hope at her movement, but the flame of hope was quickly extinguished when all Monica did was lower herself sideways onto the floor. She turned her body into the cupboards, so her back was to everyone, and put one of her arms over the remaining part of her face.

"Oh, Monica ..."

Scully's blue eyes were pained as she looked at Mulder, but he could offer no comfort. All he could do was to reach across and squeeze her boney shoulder in solidarity. He knew, like Scully, that Monica's body language had signalled a clear deterioration. She was not only in shock, but was now also rejecting their presence.

Mulder checked his watch, but it was barely five minutes since their phone call to Jana Cassidy. Doctor Cheung was probably yet to even reach his car, assuming Jana had succeeded in contacting him at all ...

Anne rubbed Monica's back. "Sweetheart, you don't have to hide from us. We know how you must be feeling, and we're right here for you ..."

But the words fell on deaf ears. Monica continued to give her the proverbial cold shoulder.

"We can't leave her on the cold floor," Tara said, looking concerned. "She'll freeze."

"Do you want me to carry her to the couch?" Charlie offered.

"No," Mulder said quickly, cutting him off before he moved closer. In reponse to Charlie's confused expression, Mulder said quietly, "If you force her, she might retreat even further."

"Just go with it," Scully told her family softly.

John, though, sitting near Monica's legs, snuck one of his hands under the bottoms of her jeans and wrapped it around her ankle, checking her temperature.

He shook his head and looked over his shoulder to Christi.

"Would you mind getting some blankets?" he asked softly.

Christi returned from the living room with two folded brown blankets and handed them to John and Scully. They wrapped them around Monica's lower body and Mulder wrapped them around her torso. It would not stop the cold coming up at her through the floor, but again Mulder thought that the risk of lifting her up to slide one underneath was not worth the possible consequences. It was quite possible Monica could become overwhelmingly violent at the slightest wrong move.

Mulder then snuck one hand under the edge of the blanket to find hers and wrapped her limp, cold hand in his own. He put his other hand to her hair, stroking the brown tresses over and over as gently as he could.

And then, out of the blue, the kitchen phone rang. Christi leapt up to answer it.

"Christina Doggett."

Christi's eyes widened in relief and she looked straight at the group of them on the floor. She covered the mouthpiece so she could whisper to them.

"It's Doctor Cheung, he's on his way with Jana."

Everyone looked up in hope. Mulder could hear a murmur of Doctor Cheung asking questions of Christi, and Christi headed for the doors and left the room to fill the doctor in without Monica overhearing. Mulder heard her voice become softer and softer as she disappeared toward the front of the house, undoubtedly, he thought, into John's small study.

It was a tense wait as the rest of them sat on the floor with Monica. After several seconds of impossibly difficult silence, John finally looked up to Mulder and with wet eyes and a wavering voice, asked, "What are we gonna do if he can't help?"

Mulder had no answer. He was frantically churning the same thought through his mind, but no solution was as yet forthcoming.

"We're not at that point yet," Scully said. She was trying to remain strong but Mulder could see her nerves quivering as she met his eyes.

"He'll be _able _to help," Anne said firmly, reaching across for her son's hand. "You don't dedicate twenty-five years of your life to the study of post-traumatic stress and not come across these types of reactions. He'll have seen it hundreds of times. Even I've seen it several times when I was working."

"You have?" Scully asked, turning to Anne with professional curiosity.

Anne nodded. As she continued to rub Monica's back through the thick blankets and hold John's hand with her other, she said, "I spent two years in palliative care. I've seen a lot of people crack under the most horrendous diseases. A lot of them simply give up fighting in the end. They become withdrawn, simply wait for death to take them. I remember one girl named Eliza. She was twenty-one years old, only two years older than Christi was at the time, and she contracted cancer. She was an extraordinary child, had the most awe-inspiring positive attitude."

"Was she the animal lover?" John asked.

"She wanted to be a vet," Anne said, smiling sadly at the memory. "She used to spend hours dreaming of how she was going to be a world-famous vet. A champion of animal rights. National icon. She used to talk to me about all her plans and her eyes would light up the room as she spoke. She kept studying right up until near the end."

"And she eventually gave up?" Tara asked.

"Yes, for a while she did. She became completely withdrawn, extremely depressed. Her family were at a loss, they asked me what to do, and I recommended they take her home and make the most of the remaining time they had. She was released from hospital, and they took her home to the farm where they lived. I got a letter from her a little over a month later, thanking me. A few weeks after that, she died. I broke protocol and went to her funeral with one of my sisters. It was a sunny Spring day, the most gorgeous blue sky, hundreds of people ... and I'm told she was content in the end. Her brother said she spent her last weeks with the family's three cats all curled up beside her on the bed. It was the best medicine we could give her."

Everyone was listening in a sad silence.

Anne shrugged a little. "Anyway, I transferred into aged care a few months later. I don't regret working there. I certainly don't regret meeting her, I think I'm privileged to have known her. But it was hard."

Mulder noticed Scully was looking at Anne with a whole new level of respect.

"Your bosses must have come down hard on you for attending her funeral," Scully observed.

"They said I was a fool," Anne said, nodding. "But I suspect it's the exact same reaction Monica received when she was so compassionate towards us during Luke's case." Anne looked down fondly at Monica as she continued to rub her back through the blanket all the while she was talking. "That's one of the many reasons I love you so much, Monica. You had the courage to care. So many millions of others would have seen Luke as just another case. Another set of reports, another series of door-to-door interviews, just another day of income for your pocket and a shot at promotion if you succeed. But you saw more than that. You were so kind to us. I remember crying alone in a chair at the police station, and you paused as you were on your way past, and you came and hugged me. It would have been so easy to just keep walking, but you stopped for me. I remember that out of the whole task force you were leading, you were the only one who showed up at the funeral. Do you know how much everyone loves you for that? They all remember, Monica. Did you know we've had calls from virtually all Barbara's family? They all want to know what they can do to help. They feel an intense need to do something for you - anything at all, they tell us. _Anything_. And our family as well. It's not only John we care about. My sisters, Jenny, Carol and Deirdre, when they call every night they're all asking after you just as much as they are John. We're getting the full inquisition, they care for you _so _much. We've had trouble keeping them back in Georgia, stopping them all from jumping on a plane to be here. They remember how you cried for Luke, how you stuck with John for so many months afterwards when most people would have just moved on and not bothered. They remember like it was yesterday. You may even remember Jenny's daughter Sophie. She's sixteen now and she's been demanding Jenny and Brian let her have time off school to come here. Just to help, to do anything she can to help. You've touched the lives of all of us, Monica. Everyone cares for you. You're definitely not alone. All we need is a chance."

Anne drifted off, though she continued rubbing Monica's back through the thick blanket. Mulder, for one, was very touched by Anne's words and he had no doubts that there was a large, extended family waiting for them in Georgia. And if all of them were as kind and loyal as the four Doggetts he had met so far, Mulder was all for their spending some time down there, as he knew John was craving to do. But until Monica came back to them ...

He looked up to see Christi leaning against the door frame, cordless phone in her hand. She looked touched by her mother's words, but simultaneously saddened by Monica's state.

"What'd he say?" Mulder asked.

"They're only ten minutes away," Christi answered, setting the phone back in the holder on the bench with a click.

She said no more, but Mulder could tell Christi had filled the doctor in on everything that had happened, and until he arrived their task was to simply stay beside Monica and prevent her from harming herself.

"I hope this works," John said, shaking his head sadly as he looked at Monica's limp and quiet form.

No one dared reply, but Anne tightened her grip on his hand.

XXX

Half an hour later, the doctor was behind the closed kitchen doors with Monica, and everyone else, including Jana Cassidy, and the recently returned Jack and Mrs Scully, were waiting in the living room. They were all on edge, and the atmosphere was so tense that the few minor attempts at conversation were quickly stifled. Mulder sat himself in an armchair. When the doctor had first arrived, Scully had joined him, and he had spent a few minutes with her sitting in his lap, but she was so tense she became quickly restless and not long after was pacing again, too stressed to sit still. Everyone seemed to think it best to let her go, but Charlie's eyes tracked her every movement as she walked back and forth. John, too, was on the verge of a breakdown, but was being held sane in an armchair by Anne and Christi, who were each parked on an armrest. Mulder had felt the signs of tremors ripple through his sanity, but as they wove in, so did Mrs Scully's arm, appearing from nowhere around his shoulders in a motherly, comforting fashion that instantly held the tremors at bay.

They had heard the doctor murmuring softly to Monica on the floor, but Mulder couldn't make out what he was saying to her. Then, a few minutes later, the doors slid open again and everyone's heads shot up hopefully.

But the doctor only looked to Christi.

"Christina, may I have your assistance?" he asked her. "I require your Spanish."

Christi left her spot and joined the doctor, and the two disappeared behind the closed kitchen doors again. Jack went and took Christi's spot in comforting John. A moment later Mulder could just make out Christi's gentle Spanish as she translated for the doctor.

And the long wait continued. After a while, John looked up impatiently from where he had had his head nestled in his hands.

"It can't take this long to examine her state of mind," he said.

"He knows what he's doing," Anne reiterated calmly, stroking his back with her hand.

Scully, from across the room, shot John an identical look of strained impatience, but it quickly became too much and she heaved a sigh and turned away, continuing her pacing. Mulder wanted to go to her, but understood Scully well enough to know it would be the wrong move. Scully had never welcomed romance when she was under pressure. Jana Cassidy sitting with them had also kept Scully firmly in the arena of professionalism. Old habits died hard.

It was not for another exhausting twenty minutes that the kitchen doors slid open again. When they did, Mulder jerked his head up, Scully spun around, and John looked up hopefully, searching the doctor's face for good news, but his face fell again almost straightaway and John's parents tightened their arms around him.

"How is she?" Scully asked him, hurrying forward.

The doctor held up a calming, yet understanding hand to Scully's panicked overeagerness. In a split second Charlie was at her side, his arm around her lightly, and Scully calmed a little and looked away.

The doctor said quietly, "I'm going to need a volunteer to sit with her whilst we talk."

Everyone looked at each other, but it was Jack who stood up. After sharing a look with his wife, he left for the kitchen, shutting the doors behind him so the group could talk privately. Christi sat down in his place.

Jana Cassidy got up from her spot on the couch and held out an arm for Scully, urging her to take her place and sit down. As Charlie steered his sister into the chair, Jana put a gentle hand on her shoulder as she passed.

The doctor joined the group, and when he hesitated, Mulder recognised a man who was choosing his words very carefully.

"Before I tell you my assessment, I need to emphasise to you all that this case is unprecedented. Psychiatry, by its very nature, is a branch of medicine that seldom plays to set rules and formulae. It is not like a broken leg, for which we have a clear set of procedures to treat, but is a wound for which healing is enormously dependent on the patient's individual characteristics. Monica is a very unique case, and as such I cannot guarantee anything in regard to a sure cure. I can only speculate based on the few deductions I have been able to make, and after we have discussed these I will give you what I see as being your two options."

Everyone nodded. Mulder could see the impatience on Scully's face. Her medical training meant the speech was unnecessary.

"Firstly, let us discuss the facts. Monica is definitely conscious, but she is in a serious state of shock. Now, given what she has been through I will be quite honest with you in that I would not expect her to emerge from it anytime soon. Her parents leaving her has left her in a very damaged state, and it is not a wound that I would expect to heal quickly."

His words confirmed only what Mulder was already thinking himself, but still hearing such a prominent doctor voicing them put a heaviness in Mulder's heart. He saw Scully was looking at down at her clasped hands, and John was staring, teary-eyed, at the carpet.

"I am, however, quite puzzled by one thing, and I would like to ask you a few questions, if I may."

"Go right ahead," Mulder said.

"Well I am aware that Monica is bilingual, that she was raised in Mexico but has lived and worked in the US for some years now. But would any of you know for sure which is her dominant language?"

"Wouldn't it be English?" Bill asked, looking confused by the question.

"That would have been my initial impression," Doctor Cheung said. "But from my examination of her just now it definitely seems that she is only responding to Spanish. When I talked to her in English I received no reaction at all, but when Christina repeated the same sentences in Spanish, there was a distinct flicker in her eyes. But I am not sure why she is reacting like that, and it is certainly not something I have encountered before. Have any of you ever heard her use Spanish extensively before her parents arrived this week?"

"A few times on cases, interviewing witnesses," John said. "She slipped in and out of it, no problem."

"Have you ever heard her use it in a casual environment?" Doctor Cheung asked. "Perhaps speaking to a friend in Spanish, or even talking to herself? Perhaps even when watching a foreign film?"

"Not extensively, no," Scully said. "Sometimes just a few words ..."

"When she's reading through something that doesn't add up, sometimes she'll start mumbling, sorting through it in her mind," John added.

Mulder saw the doctor's expression immediately change, as though he had zoomed in on John's words.

"Are you aware of when she learned English? Did she know it as a child or did she only learn it later in life, at school, or on her return to the US?"

Everyone looked at each other. No one knew.

"She could have easily learned it as a child," Scully suggested. "Both her parents are bilingual."

"But their dominant language is Spanish," Mulder pointed out. "They speak in Spanish amongst themselves, and it suggests that she was raised that way."

"She had to have known English well to get into Brown," John put in. "She had to have learned it before she went to study there."

"But she has no clear accent," Charlie said. "You'd never know she's Mexican unless she told you."

Mrs Scully looked to Jana Cassidy.

"It's not in her record, is it?"

"No," Jana said. "We have no record of when she learned English. But I can tell you Spanish and English aren't the only languages she speaks. We do have her listed as being fluent in Latin, from her studies at college, and also moderately capable in French."

Mulder stared. When Jana showed no signs of lying he looked instead to Scully and John, and found his surprise mirrored in their faces.

"Look, either way, is this relevant?" Bill asked, trying to sound polite but sounding immensely confused all the same.

"I would certainly say it is," Doctor Cheung said. "Without talking to her parents, we of course can't know for sure, but from your experiences with Monica, and from my own conversation with her on Tuesday, I would have definitely said that English is her dominant language. Therefore, the fact that she is only responding to Spanish is quite significant. I would therefore guess that sometime in the past, most probably in her early childhood, Spanish was Monica's dominant language. We can only surmise that sometime _since _then, for whatever reason, that changed. But it is quite clear to me now that what we've witnessed is Monica reverting to Spanish as her dominant language. Christina told me the fight she had with her parents was in Spanish, and so at the time she slipped into shock, this was the language she was using. The fact that it is the language she associates with her parents, and that they are the cause of her shock and most likely the thing her mind is locked onto, means that her mind seems to have locked onto Spanish in the process. I have no doubt that while to us she appears to be in shock, her mind is actually an intense hive of activity, but that she will be thinking _entirely _in Spanish. As such, only words coming to her in Spanish are penetrating her thick wall of shock."

John nodded. "So be it, then." He looked up at Christi. "You can help us, we can get around that until she's better."

"But how do we get her well?" Mrs Scully asked.

"You said you have two options for us," Anne remembered.

"I do," Doctor Cheung said. "There are only two courses I can recommend. Either you can take care of her yourselves, which I suspect is what you wish to do, or you can admit her to hospital. Now -"

"No way," John said shortly. "_Absolutely _no way."

Doctor Cheung held up a hand to urge him to calm down. Anne squeezed John's shoulder to restrain him.

"I understand how you feel, but I still think it would be best if we weighed the pros and cons of each approach first. I want everyone here to understand the situation perfectly before you make your decision together."

John fell quiet and nodded politely.

"Now if you put her into hospital she will get around the clock care by a team of expert doctors and nurses. She will receive intensive counselling and we will be much better positioned to deal with her weight. Now, AD Cassidy tells me the FBI is covering the costs of your health care, and the cost won't be an issue for you. But, knowing you are concerned for Monica's anxiety over doctors and hospitals, I understand your wish to care for her yourselves. But, like I said, I need each of you to understand _precisely _what you would be signing up for."

The doctor paused, and everyone nodded slightly to show they were listening and urge him to keep going.

"I'm sure you are each aware of the scale of what she's experienced. Her experiences on the mountain alone are horrific enough without having her only family abandon her. And I fear to speculate that the fact that they were her adoptive parents and she has already been given up once in her life might compound the issue again. There is _no _guarantee that she will emerge from her depression in the space of a few hours. If you're _very _lucky, she might gradually improve after a few days. But it could easily be weeks, and it could just as likely be never. I have seen some people who've fallen into this state simply never emerge again. It is a harsh fact, yes, but it is one you do need to be aware of."

Again, the doctor paused. This time, it was only Mulder who gave a grim nod to acknowledge he'd heard. Christi, however, took a deep breath and looked up confidently, as if ready to meet the challenge.

"Now, the positive point is that the strong bond the four of you share might go some way in shielding her. But we have no way of knowing for sure how much it will help. And even if we look at the best possible scenario - that she slowly emerges after several days in your care - you cannot underestimate the _intensive _care she will need during that time. She is completely unable to care for herself, and so you would need to do everything for her. And I'm not only talking about forcing her to eat and drink regularly, but all the other aspects of daily life we take for granted. Even such a thing as using the bathroom will become a big issue for you. You've already seen she has no interest in her body's need for food and water. You saw her complete lack of concern for her soiled clothing. The same will apply to all her other bodily functions. It is not uncommon for people in this condition to simply urinate in their pants as their mind becomes completely detached from their body's demands. You will need to ensure she uses the toilet regularly, and will need to help her with every step of the process. Are you willing to do that?"

"Absolutely," Mulder said, not even needing to think. Similarly, Scully nodded immediately, and the expression on John's face showed he seemed to think it a silly question to need to ask.

After absorbing their reactions, Doctor Cheung looked around at their family members. It was Anne who spoke for the group.

"We can help her with that," she said comfortably. "It's not an issue."

"Good, then we'll go one step further. Now, I don't mean to make any of the men in this room uncomfortable, but being a female of 33 years you could easily find yourselves also having to deal with her menstrual cycle. Are you willing to do that as well?"

"Definitely," Christi said.

"All right. Then there is also the business of washing her and dressing her, but I'm going to presume you're comfortable with that, too."

He paused while they confirmed again that it would be fine.

"Now, I have some other general advice and points I'd like to make if you wish to care for her yourselves. Firstly, I advise _strongly _- and I can't emphasise this enough - that you do not leave her alone. She will need twenty-four hour, constant supervision. I would not be surprised if she makes a suicide attempt the second you turn your backs. And I fear to say that over ten years in the FBI will have given her a solid knowledge of how to go about it. Do not think that you're just going to duck out of the room to fetch something. Seconds is all it will take and you won't get a warning."

He paused. For the first time in the conversation, Mulder felt a little discomfort. He met Scully's eyes and found the same fear there. A second later he felt Mrs Scully's arm tighten around his shoulders.

"Secondly, if I were you I would think about relocating out of sight of the media. Being imprisoned here under their watchful eye is not healthy for any of you, and it certainly won't help put Monica at ease. In my experience the best locations for healing are often those that are peaceful and isolated from the chaos of the everyday world. If you have access to such a place, I would encourage you to go there. Thirdly, now I'm aware you've all been told this numerous times already, but I want to emphasise it again: that even if she does get better, she is going to get a lot worse first. You can expect some very irrational behaviour, and I don't just mean bouts of tears. She might become violent. She might develop a fear of letting people get close to her and consequently resent your presence and all of your attempts to be kind to her. And if she does emerge at the other end of all that and slowly seem like her normal self, you could easily face a relapse at the slightest reminder of what happened. I urge you strongly to consider all of these things I've mentioned. It is easy to say you'll care for her, but the process will be long, and it will be incredibly draining."

There was a moment's silence. Mulder held Scully's determined eyes with his own. They were ready. No matter what it took, they would give it their all. From across the room he felt an energy burn the air between them.

"I'll go sit with her while you talk it out," Doctor Cheung said, rising to his feet.

"Don't bother," Christi said suddenly.

The doctor looked at her, a little surprised.

"We've already made our decision," she explained. She shared a look with John and Anne. Their faces were equally as determined. She went on in a softer voice. "We've all been through this before and we knew exactly what we were signing up for when we came here. And it's going to take a _hell _of a lot more than simply saying we'll have to help her use the toilet to scare us away. We're in this until the end. No matter what it takes."

There was a silence. From his seat beside her, John looked up to Christi, tears of gratitude in his eyes. Christi met his expression with moist eyes of her own and a strong look of determined understanding passed between them. Then John reached up for her hand, she grasped it, and they held each other's hands tight.

"Do you agree with this?" Doctor Cheung asked, looking to the Scully family.

Mulder watched as Mrs Scully, Bill, Tara and Charlie all exchanged looks. True to form, they were a family who were hard to read. But Mulder could feel the intensity of their searching gazes.

After a moment, Mrs Scully lifted her head and met the doctor's eyes with a look of headstrong determination Mulder was accustomed to seeing on her daughter.

"We're in."

Her voice shook a little as she said it. There was no question that she was a little apprehensive over what they were all in for. But it was this that Mulder respected so much in the Scullys, and it was this quality that was worth more than all the money and precious stones in the world. It was courage in its finest form. The Doggetts were seasoned veterans with trauma, and the events of their pasts and loyalty to Monica had made it a simple decision. But the Scullys had not known Monica prior to the plane crash, and though they had experienced painful times, it was still their first encounter with trauma on this unconquerable scale. But Mulder found his heart pounding with respect and awe, because in spite of this, in spite of the obvious nervousness on their faces, they held their heads high and would do whatever it took, sacrifice whatever needed to be sacrificed, stick to their principles. They had the courage Monica's own family lacked.

Feeling the energy pulsating through the air, Mulder looked to Scully. Like John, her face was wet with gratitude, and she stared at her family members, not even able to find words. And after a moment all she could do was reach for the closest one, and wrap her arms around Charlie in silence.

"We'll do it, Dana," Charlie whispered to her, hugging her tight. "We're not running away."

* * *

_Are you still enjoying this? Truth be told, I feel like I'm misleading people just a little here, but I couldn't fit the rest of it into this chapter, so the rest of the developments will wait until the next one. I guess that makes no sense, either. But either way, I hope you're enjoying and aren't bored yet... as for the romances of this story, they're not dead, just temporarily distracted from it as they deal with more important matters. But I will say this whole upcoming third of the story is hugely romance/sex based. As soon as I resolve this and get the four of them on their own for a while ... _


	21. Chapter 21

**_Chapter 49 - What Next?_**

Several hours later, when the sun was low on the horizon and chilly grey shadows were beginning to settle over Falls Church, the Doggett house was still chaotic. Monica was still in a blank, deeply depressed stupor, but the rest of the house had remained a hive of activity. Doctor Cheung had stayed with them, and had insisted they move Monica to the couch and change her soaked clothes. She was still not supporting her weight, though, and her body was limp, so once they had forcibly changed her clothes, they allowed her to lie down on the couch cushions and had wrapped her in warm blankets. She did, however, refuse to remain facing the group, and had rolled over to snuggle into the back of the chair instead, keeping her back to them all. Jana Cassidy, meanwhile, had also stayed on, and had spent the time pacing the study and corridor in the front of John's house, talking busily on her cell phone, making call after call after call. Exactly what she was doing, Mulder was not sure, but he did not really care, either. He trusted her to take care of things. She was their guard warding off the unwanted outside world.

Mrs Scully and Tara had temporarily left the house to go buy groceries, and when they returned Mrs Scully showed off her fabulous cooking skills by making a pumpkin soup for them all. The scent that wafted through the rooms was the most alluring smell that had hit Mulder's nose in several years, and he had needed no persuasion to eat any. It had also deliberately been made smooth enough that they had been able to force some into Monica's mouth, and she now sat propped up against Anne, leaning against her shoulder, brown eyes staring blankly ahead as Anne gently forced spoonfuls between her lips, and as Christi sat on her other side, using her Spanish to urge her to swallow.

Mulder sat with the still-teary John on the coffee table, facing Monica. John kept one hand wrapped around Monica's, even though she was still not registering any of their touches. He had lapsed into silence over an hour ago, too concerned to speak and was plainly wondering whether Monica was going to emerge at all. Scully, meanwhile, had finished her soup and disappeared into the kitchen to put her bowl in the dishwasher.

"Is she swallowing?" Mrs Scully asked, standing near them and looking worried. "Or just keeping it in her mouth?"

"A bit of both, I think," Anne replied, as she continued to hold Monica up against her. In her lap sat the bowl of soup, silver spoon momentarily resting in it as she waited for Monica to swallow the latest mouthful. "Come on, sweetheart, swallow it down."

Christi kept up her gentle Spanish translations, and Mulder, watching the muscles in Monica's throat, could tell that it was only on the Spanish requests that Monica was indeed swallowing, and even then on the fifth or sixth time Christi asked for each spoonful. It was a very slow process. The level in the bowl had hardly dropped.

"It's _delicious_, Mom," Charlie said, draining his bowl quickly. "I'd almost forgotten what a great cook you are."

"It's _superb_," Bill added.

Mrs Scully beamed, but as they shared the rare smile, it quickly faded as Mrs Scully's eyes automatically searched for Dana. They had been keeping watch on her all afternoon, and even a momentary disappearance was worrying. Mulder suddenly realised that Scully had not returned from dropping off her bowl and spoon in the kitchen.

"I'll get her," he said, quickly getting to his feet and heading for the kitchen before any of her relatives could beat him to it.

He found her leaning against the back of a wooden kitchen chair, staring thoughtfully at a cheap World War II aircraft calendar John had stuck to his fridge. Beneath the calendar were the colourful messages of love Matthew and Lizzie had sent via e-mail several days ago, but it was not these that held Scully's attention. Mulder stepped up to her side.

"To think that it's only been a month," Mulder said.

The calendar was still on January. It was Thursday the 30th now, and it was hard to imagine that it had only been thirty days ago that they had been celebrating the coming of another year. Mulder now remembered that night as a piece of pure bliss that felt so far away now. He had persuaded Scully to watch the fireworks with him, and afterward they had gone for a long walk, hand in hand, and had eventually retired to her apartment where they had made gentle, slow love in her bed. He had woken in the morning to find Scully naked in his arms, and had thought that this was how he wanted to spend the entire year ... alone with Scully, nothing else mattering ...

So much for that.

Two weeks later their entire lives had been shattered.

"What's the matter?"

"I've just been thinking," she said quietly, eyes still staring at the calendar.

He waited, slipping an arm around her shoulders.

But no words came. As she stared at the World War II bomber, her eyes teared up, her lips parted slightly, and then she looked away to try to hide her crying, but Mulder had already caught her. He held her close against him, her face to his chest, and felt her arms slip themselves firmly around his waist.

She tried to cry silently, carefully stifling all noise, and Mulder knew precisely why: because Monica was still only feet away, still desperately ill and needing them to be strong for her. And if Monica heard Scully's crying, hearing her friend's weakness would only plummet her spirits further.

They could not afford to let Monica overhear.

This weighing on his mind, he managed to steal a glance over his shoulder as Scully tried to gather herself together, but he found only the eyes of Scully's family watching him, and they hastily looked away when he caught them. But by this time Scully's arms were loosening, and she pulled back and sniffed quietly, wiping her eyes.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"No," he said, running his hand down her bright red hair. "Don't be sorry. Don't hide how you're feeling."

Scully sighed, cheeks pink and wet, and glanced past him to where Monica was being force-fed by Anne. He knew she was thinking the same thing as him.

"Let's go outside a minute."

Slipping his arm back around her shoulders and urging her to come with him, he steered them back toward the living room. He paused there, leaning over the back of the couch to press a kiss to Monica's head. He then said quietly to her, "We'll be right back, okay?" Scully, too, leaned over to give Monica a hug from behind, silently reassuring her they were still around and had not left her, but she did not chance using her voice, knowing the shakiness of it would give her away.

When Mulder turned with Scully to head for the back porch, however, he found Mrs Scully blocking their way.

"Coats and scarves, both of you," she instructed, handing over their thick black trench coats and two scarves. One of them Mulder recognised as the bright prink scarf Tara had loaned Scully during Follmer's funeral. The other was a dark green scarf Mulder had not seen before.

They slipped on the gear, and Mrs Scully gave her daughter a reassuring kiss on the cheek before Mulder and Scully finally reached the back door and stepped out into the weather.

It was like walking into a freezer, Mulder thought, as the back door swung shut behind them and they emerged on John's concrete porch with the swinging seat. The wind had died down, and the trees in the neighborhood were still, but the temperature was icy and it stung Mulder's face the second he emerged outside, like a swarm of insects biting for his blood.

"Let's sit down."

He took Scully's soft hand and pulled her with him to the swinging seat. She waited until he had sat down and then lowered herself sideways into his lap. His arms automatically curled themselves around her narrow waist, tugging her even closer, and she twisted herself a little awkwardly so her torso was facing his, and she nestled her face into the scarf around his neck.

No words were needed. Mulder's vision became hazy and he closed his eyes against the breakdown he felt building up inside him. Scully, her touch and her body nestled up against him, was the only comfort he had against the dam that was threatening to burst. And for a while, they stayed like that. Mulder held Scully firmly against him, wanting fervently to slip his hands inside her buttoned coat, but knowing she was so small and thin it would be irresponsible to expose her body to the weather. So he settled for rubbing his hands up and down her sides, and felt another twinge when he felt the sides of her ribs clearly protruding out, even through the thick, coarse fabric of her coat. When he felt this, he slipped one hand around to her back, but it was only to find her spine jutting out just as bad as her ribs. She was nearly as thin as Monica. And when he thought of Monica the pressure increased yet again, and the desperation to do something to help her engulfed him again. They had to act now. Every second they did nothing, went on like this, was another chance of her recovery lost forever. But what to do?

As if reading his mind, Scully whispered with a defeated sigh, "What are we going to do, Mulder?"

He thought she might pull away, but was glad when she didn't, and kept her face resting between his neck and shoulder. His hands continued to stroke her, roaming freely over her coat. Hers were gripping his hips.

"I don't know," he admitted softly. "We have to think of something. Try to imagine how she's feeling, what might help."

"I imagine she's feeling rejected," Scully suggested. "Unwanted and abandoned. Worthless."

"Alone," Mulder added, still with his eyes closed as he turned his profiling skills onto one of his best friends. "Unloved."

"She's neither alone nor unloved."

"I know," he replied. "But I think the harsh truth is, that no matter how well-intentioned the love of your and John's families is, she doesn't yet feel she has a bond with them that's tight enough to withstand what she's feeling. She's only known your family a few days, Scully, and as for John's ... despite the history with Luke, this is the first chance they've had to get to know each other. Their bond needs more time to grow and develop before she'll be comfortable with leaning on it and accepting their love."

He knew Scully fully understood when she said nothing.

"And that leaves us," he said quietly. "You, me, and John."

This time Scully did pull away, and he opened his eyes to meet her teary blue ones.

"If we could only get her to recognise us again," Scully said. "To get her to feel what we felt when we were up there. That spirit. The closeness ..."

One sentence from Doctor Cheung's speech sprang back fresh into Mulder's mind.

"That's what the Doctor said," he remembered. "That our strong bond might go some way in shielding her."

"Then we have to get her to feel it again," Scully concluded, looking firmly into his eyes.

For the first time he felt a faint flicker of hope somewhere deep inside him and a fraction of the pressure was released from his shoulders. They had to intensify their bond, to get Monica to feel it again, recognise them again, and lean on them again so they could help her recover from the loss of her parents. But how to do that? And as if his mind had been subconsciously planning it for days, the answer sprung into his mind already formed. The greatest pressure for them now was being in Washington, purely because it was ground zero for the tragedy. Sixteen of the eighteen people who had died had been FBI agents living and working in Washington, and so it was Washington where the pain was at its heaviest and most unbearable. Thousands of FBI agents worked in the Hoover building, and all of them had known at least one of the victims. Many had known several or all of them very well. Jana Cassidy had already hinted at how deep this had fractured the Bureau, at the fact that there were still counselling sessions in progress, that it would be months before the Bureau was back on its feet functioning again. The pressure of Washington, its pain and the all too many memories it induced, was what had first made them decide to head to Georgia, to where John's family were based. But they could not head there now. It would be exactly the same situation, just in a differently furnished room. Monica still unwilling to let anyone in, their families still hovering around her, the media still hanging over the front fence. No, they needed to change the formula, to fiddle with the variables ... and as the answer arrived in his mind and he found Scully's eyes again, he saw in their blue, uncomfortable depths that she had already reached it before him.

Like so many times before in their partnership, they were thinking the exact same thing.

He raised his hands to cup her shoulders.

"Are you strong enough to leave your family for a few days?"

He saw her hesitance, and she broke his gaze to look out into John's yard.

"Be honest, Scully."

At last she turned back, and he saw the distinct Scully courage shining through in her determined face.

"Yes," she replied, meeting his eyes firmly. "I couldn't live with myself if we didn't give it a try."

He nodded. "If it does work, if the four of us being alone helps her, then it'll be worth it. And if it doesn't work, then we'll be no worse off. We can come back and go to Georgia like we planned."

She nodded in agreement, but there was a worried look in her eye. "You think John will agree?"

"Yes," he said.

"His family are _extremely _close, Mulder," Scully said, lowering her voice slightly. "You know how much he's craving to get to Atlanta."

"And we will. We will go to Atlanta, and we will spend all the time he needs with his family. But right now I think he feels exactly the same as us. All that matters is Monica, Scully. Everything else we're feeling will just have to wait. Plus, he'll feel a lot better if we're doing something, and some time alone might be just what they both need."

"We'll have to ask him."

Mulder nodded, he felt a determined energy soaring through his veins.

"Then let's go grab him."

XXX

"Rhode Island? What's in Rhode Island?"

From across the crowded kitchen, Jack was staring at Mulder with complete bewilderment, and it was a confusion that was shared by the entirety of the Doggett and Scully families. But Mulder, with John and Scully standing firm in agreement either side of him, only felt a new, hopeful confidence.

"I own a beach house there," he explained calmly. "It's a remote, secluded getaway owned by my family that I inherited when my mom died. We used to spend our summers there as kids. It's been looked after for me by some old family friends who live nearby and we think it would be a good idea if we took Monica there for a few days. Just the four of us."

"You want to go alone?" Mrs Scully asked, eyes widening.

"Yes," Scully replied.

"It's for the best," John added, backing them both up.

"But _why_?" Bill asked loudly, as several others opened their mouths to voice identical objections. "She's already lost her parents! You think us abandoning her as well is going to cheer her up?"

"Not to mention how _freezing _cold it'll be up there," Jack added. "It's bad enough here! And she's so thin the slightest chill will _kill _her ..."

"We'll switch on the heater," John said, shrugging off his father's remark.

His family stared at him. Christi looked absolutely lost for words.

"You need to understand how she feels," Mulder said, determined to stay calm. "What's she been through this week. What we experienced was absolutely horrific, but it was also uniting. You know we became close because of it. And then we made it to Vancouver, we met up with you and her parents, and flew back here. You know the extensive damage they've done to her this week, even before their fight today. We know now they haven't been close since her childhood, and that they've probably never enjoyed the close families ties that you in this room share. She has _never _known family as you know it, just as _I_ never have. And when you face something like this, and your entire life is in ruins, you do get that urge to turn back to your base, to your family origins. But when you don't have that foundation - the foundation your best friends _do _have - it can fill you with the most agonising envy." He looked to the Doggetts, to Anne, Christi and Jack, and he heard his voice soften as his own eyes teared up. "You are the perfect family. I can't describe how it's felt this week to stand here watching the incredible bond you share. You are everything a family should be, everything most people crave. You are the family I've never had, the family Monica's never had, and watching that knowing her own parents have left her ..."

"It's painful," Scully finished quietly.

"She's not on the outside," Anne said, tears appearing in her eyes. "I'd take her as my daughter in an instant." She looked sadly over at Monica, who had slumped horizontal on the couch again. "If she'd just give us a chance ..."

"I know," Mulder replied. "But she's just lost two parents of her own and I don't think she's ready to take a chance on anyone else's. _Especially _someone she loves and respects as much as you."

"You think she's terrified we'll abandon her?" Christi asked.

"Wouldn't you feel that way?" John asked sadly. "If your parents of 33 years ditched you at a time like this?"

Christi looked over at Monica, huddled into the couch. She said nothing, but a tear slipped down from one of her eyes.

"Our bond is the only shield she has," Mulder repeated gently. "Doctor, you said that yourself. If we spend time alone we can strengthen it, and hopefully bring her back. And when we do come back, we'll still come with you to Georgia. We'll still spend time with _all _of you -" He looked around at the Scullys "- and maybe then she'll be strong enough to let you further in. But until then, as long as she's feeling this way ..."

"We understand."

It was Jack's voice, and he spoke softly, with a resigned, but understanding tone.

"We just want her to get well," Mrs Scully said, voice trembling. "If you're _sure _us stepping back will help ..."

"We're sure it's the only chance we've got," John answered.

"So that's it?" Bill asked. "We just go home?"

"Yes," Scully answered swiftly. "Right now that's the best thing you can do. Go home to Matthew and Lizzie, make sure they're okay and that they remain unharmed."

"And to take care of the one you have on the way as well," John added, nodding to Tara's stomach.

Mulder glanced around at the family members. "You can catch your breath, take some time out -" His eyes landed on Christi. "Get some sleep."

"I'm sorry, I can't." Christi looked up at them with a strong, but hurt expression. "I just _can't _walk away and leave you with this. If you want some time alone, then okay, but at least let us stay close by. We can rent rooms in Providence ..."

"No," John said, shaking his head. "We need to feel alone. Same as we were when we were up there."

"Just the four of us," Scully repeated, with an apologetic look.

Charlie turned to look at Doctor Cheung, who had been watching with Jana Cassidy from the doorway.

"What do you think?"

"I think it's a possibility," the Doctor replied. "I definitely agree you're better off far away from Washington, and that being alone as you were on the mountain site might help her."

"But how will you communicate with her?" Anne asked. "Without Christi's Spanish?"

Jana Cassidy stepped forward.

"I've already put some of the Bureau's translators on 24 hour standby." She looked to Christi. "I figured you'd need a chance to sleep, sooner or later."

Mulder felt a rush of gratitude.

"What do you plan to do about the media?" Doctor Cheung asked.

"It's private property," Mulder stated. "They'll have no grounds for intruding."

He saw Jana Cassidy stiffen a little as she restrained herself from rolling her eyes. "I very much doubt you'll be able to count on that. With the prices executives are offering for your story - for any _hint _of it - the reporters aren't worried about things like laws and ethics. We've already issued heavy warnings to several of the networks this week. If they see even the slightest sign of us weakening our guard over you the pressure on you is going to increase a hundredfold."

"What guard?" John asked.

Jana hesitated. "You're unaware we've been keeping watch over the media?" She glanced at Mrs Scully, then to Jack and Anne. "We did notify your families."

Bill looked awkward. "We saw no reason to bring it up, Dana. You have so much to worry about already."

Mulder opened his mouth, but was cut off by Jana Cassidy.

"It was just a precaution, to do what we could to protect you. We've had pairs of agents on four hours shifts in a car outside your house since Agent Scully fainted on the sidewalk on Monday. We decided then we weren't going to stand for that kind of harassment. But if it bothers you -"

"No, it's no bother," Scully said quickly. "It was just a surprise."

"I think we're all very grateful for your help," Mulder said honestly. "We just haven't had time to even think about the media."

"I understand," Jana said. "But I'm sorry to say that if you're planning to leave on your own you're going to have to consider it now. I think your best chance would be a diversion. We could put out the story that you're heading elsewhere - somewhere South - and then leave you to slip out in the night once the media outside have dispersed. I'd recommend against you stopping on the way, if you can possibly avoid it, and I'd also recommend you let us loan you a car from the Bureau's fleet. We'll get you one with tinted windows, to minimise the chances of you being recognised in traffic en route. I'd also like your permission to put the Providence police on quiet notice that you're in the area. I won't ask them to surveil you, as that would obviously give the game away, but they'd be available on call if any trouble came. And if any trouble does strike - if for some reason you're discovered - I'll ask that you leave the police to deal with them and not get involved yourselves."

Mulder felt stunned by the thought she had already given to the situation, and a little foolish that he hadn't thought of it all himself. But it was true, he thought, with a heavy feeling. They would no longer be able to slip in and out of crowds unrecognised. They were celebrities now, and their every move was watched, filmed, and reported on the news. They could not even stop for gas or to buy a snack. They could still not do their own grocery shopping, would have to get someone to go for them beforehand. He felt a glimpse of the trouble that was ahead in readjusting to the world, but he shut the thought off. They would get around those problems. They would take the Bureau's car, slip up to Rhode Island unnoticed, and get Monica well. They would not have to talk to anyone on the way there or on the way back. The only people they would have to interact with were Mulder's old family friends, Reg and Clare, and they would be on his side. They would help with any supplies they needed from town.

"I have some recommendations as well," Doctor Cheung added. "I think we'd all be grateful if you could stay in touch with regard to Monica's condition. I'd like to hear from you at least three times a day so we can keep a close watch on her progress. I'd also like to leave a few more phone numbers with you. I'm afraid I'm not yet at liberty to leave Washington, as I still have business at FBI Headquarters, but I do have colleagues in the region of Rhode Island and Massachusetts who I would like to put on standby, in case you need emergency assistance."

"Agreed," John said.

There was a pause, a tense silence born from a finality of what they were planning.

"When did you want to leave?" Jack asked. "Tonight?"

Mulder nodded. "As soon as possible."

XXX

An hour later, Scully shut the front door of Monica's apartment behind her and clicked on the lightswitch. A warm, soft glow lit up the gloom. Beyond, the large windows looked out upon the twinkling night lights of Washington DC. Scully paused as her mother stepped around her.

"Is this her bedroom?" Mrs Scully asked, pointing to a closed door across the living room.

"Yeah," Scully nodded.

She forced her mind back on the task at hand - packing a case for Monica. A lot of her clothes were already at John's place, but she had packed with the funerals in mind, and so most of what she had was black suits and blouses, and not suitable for the trip they were planning to take. The few casual things Monica had taken to John's place were now being washed and ironed by Tara, just as their other family members were completing other preparations: Jack and Christi had gone food shopping to pick up supplies for them; John and Mulder were staying beside Monica; Anne was in the kitchen preparing a few ready made meals they could take with them and simply heat up later; and Jana Cassidy was arranging the delivery of a Bureau fleet car, which Scully had heard her say would be parked a few streets away until the media disappeared.

In Monica's bedroom, Scully found her mother already in Monica's closet, picking up a pair of jeans and putting them into the empty overnight bag sitting on the bed.

"We'll have to pack for warmth," Mrs Scully said, looking between a thick grey turtleneck in one hand and a brown cotton top in the other. She put the cotton top back and took the turtleneck to the bag, where she placed it on the top of the jeans.

Scully realised again that she was standing around like an idiot, and forced herself to snap her mind back into gear. She headed for the set of four wooden drawers beside Monica's bed. The topmost drawer was full of odds and ends - jewellery and knick-knacks - but in the second drawer Scully found a plentiful supply of lingerie. Scully hesitated, immediately wondering whether she should pack for comfort or sexiness. As long as Monica was ill, comfort would probably be the way to go, and so the practical cotton bras and sports bras would be more appropriate. But if Monica did emerge from her stupor, her passionate relationship with John meant she might prefer some of the more sexy items. Unsure which way to go, Scully took a few of both and packed them into the bag.

She meant to return to the drawers, but as she turned her mother's hand gripped her wrist and Scully found herself looking into her mother's intensely worried eyes. Scully knew her mother well - and had known on the drive to Monica's apartment that her veil of no-nonsense urgency would fall, sooner or later.

"Dana, are you sure you can do this?"

Scully considered the question. She absent-mindedly found herself looking out through Monica's bedroom window, back to the lights of Washington.

"I'm sure we won't make it without her," Scully replied. "And that this is the best chance we have of bringing her back."

Mrs Scully nodded, and Scully felt a little relieved that her mother seemed to understand.

"Promise me something."

Scully waited.

"If it gets too hard, you won't be ashamed to say so. If you can't cope, _tell _John and Mulder, and we'll come to Rhode Island immediately."

"I will, Mom," Scully said, reaching out to touch her mother's arm to ease her concerns. "We'll look after each other."

"Do you still want to visit Melissa's grave before you go?" Mrs Scully asked. "We have time."

"No," Scully said quickly, shutting the thought off even as the pain of Melissa gripped her heart. "I can't afford to think about that now. About anything."

"You don't want to talk to Father McCue?"

"I can't, Mom," Scully said, looking away from her mother's worried eyes. "I just ... I can't afford to think about anything but Monica. I'll worry about the rest when she's better, when we get back here to Washington."

She could not afford to think about the possibility that Monica might not get better, and poured all her energy into thinking that she would. But she saw the same haunted look in her mother's eyes.

"It'll work," she said, taking a deep breath to quash the quivering she felt inside. "It may take a few days, that's all. But we'll get her better, we'll meet you back here, and then we'll go together to Atlanta as we planned."

Her mother nodded in agreement, but it was a sad nod that was tinged with fear. Seeing it, Scully wanted to hug her, wanted to reassure her and make her believe that it was all going to be okay, but feeling her own looming breakdown bubbling away inside, she held off. She could not lose it, could not dissolve into a puddle of tears. She had to stay focussed.

Squeezing and letting go of her mother's arm, Scully turned back to the drawers, opening the third one. She found a small pile of socks and picked up the thickest, warmest pairs. She went to pack them just as her mother packed an old pair of jogging shoes she had found. Scully was relieved her mother's look of determined strength had returned, that she had sensed Scully could not afford to get emotional. She felt her mother touch her back in an apology as she turned to the final drawer in the tower.

She opened it to find a box of tampons.

Scully picked up the box, but found it was so light there could be barely any tampons left inside it. Flicking open the lid, she saw she was right. She felt her heart clench. She tried to think frantically of when Monica was due, but the only thing she knew for sure was that Monica had not been menstruating on the mountain. Between the lack of facilities, the way they had accompanied each other to do their business, and the way Scully had had to strip her of her clothes during her hypothermia, there would have been no way for Monica to keep it a secret. And that meant she was likely to be due within the next two weeks. Turning over the empty box in her hand, she looked over her shoulder.

"Mom, do you have Christi's number?"

Mrs Scully dug in her handbag and pulled out her cell phone.

"Charles programmed them all in," she informed Scully, holding it out for her.

She did not ask why Scully wanted it, but seemed to know just from the box Scully was openly holding in her hand.

Scully arrowed her way through the extensive list of contacts and finally found Christi's cell phone number. She dialed.

Christi's voice, blurred and crackling with the background noise of a shopping aisle, came onto the line. "Mrs Scully?"

"No, it's Dana," Scully said. "Christi, I need your help ..."

XXX

They finally made it back to Falls Church just over half an hour later, at around eight o'clock. It had been dark in DC, but it was pitch black in the suburbs, where the lighting was sparse, and the lack of a moon and the completely overcast sky meant no light was penetrating the quiet neighborhood. It was the perfect night to make an unseen escape, but Scully was disappointed to find that the media were not yet gone. Half of the crowd had disappeared, but the other half seemed determined to stick it out. It was now a known fact that Mr and Mrs Reyes had abandoned Monica and were on a flight to Mexico City, and it was also known that Doctor Cheung and AD Jana Cassidy had arrived many hours earlier and were yet to leave. The dashings out of Scully and her mother in one car, and Jack and Christi in another, had also heightened interest and caused the media to stick around. She also noticed, for the first time, the Bureau's guard - two agents sitting in a car parked opposite and two houses up. She saw the agent in the driver's seat was talking on his cell phone, but the young female in the passenger seat nodded to Scully as their eyes met for a brief second.

"They're still out there," Scully said, walking into the living room a few moments later and setting Monica's packed bag down on the carpet. "It looks like it might be hours before we can leave."

John and Mulder looked up from the couch. Monica was still lying down and looking completely withdrawn, but the difference now was that John had pulled her across his lap, her head resting on a pillow on his thighs. Her face was pointing toward his body, looking away from them all. The blankets still cocooned her body, and Mulder sat beside her knees.

"Don't stress," Jana Cassidy said, heading into the room from where she'd been talking with Anne in the kitchen. "They've kept up a vigil until midnight for the past few nights, but the cold never fails to drive them away eventually."

"You got the bag?" Charlie asked, coming down the stairs.

"Yeah, it's all packed," Scully said, waving to the bag she had placed beside the couch.

Mrs Scully made her way to the kitchen to talk with Anne, and Scully made her way over to her three friends. Mulder's eyes immediately connected with hers, and she exchanged a soft comfort kiss with him as she sat down on the coffee table. They grasped hands, resting them on Mulder's knee. She shared a look of heartache with John as both their eyes fell to Monica in his lap. With her free hand Scully reached out and lightly stroked her dark brown hair, wanting to reassure her friend she was back, that she was still present and was _not _going to leave.

"If you want to hasten the media's departure, you could try turning off a few unnecessary lights," Doctor Cheung advised. "Make the place look a little more asleep."

"That's a good idea," Bill said, and he headed for the front of the house, for the rooms that had windows that faced the street. Scully saw the front corridor dim into blackness a few seconds later.

Charlie made himself useful in gathering all their bags and possessions they were taking and stacking them into one pile that could be quickly transported to the car later. There was a bag for each of them, a small pile of blankets and pillows for use in the car, and a box of board games. The box of board games had been Mulder's idea before Scully had left for Monica's apartment. It was the games John had used to play with Luke before he died, and contained the old chess set, a game of Monopoly, and a game of Scrabble, as well as a few others. It would help pass the time at the beach house, was something easygoing and enjoyable the four of them could do together.

"Did you get in touch with Reg and Clare?" Scully asked.

"They say the place is all ready for us," Mulder replied. "They were happy to help, and aren't going to breathe a word."

"We got in touch with my family, too," John said. "They're gonna back the story that we're in hiding down there. It should take the pressure off us."

It was good news, but Scully's nervousness did not fade. There was so much pressure for their plan to work, she felt a nervous wreck. But they had to wait. They could not make a move until the media were gone for the night.

"I dunno where Dad and Christi got to," John said thoughtfully. "They should've been back by now."

"They won't be long," Mulder said. "Don't worry."

But Scully understood John's worry, and knew that it really had nothing to do with his father and sister.

"Look," Anne said, arriving at their side with Mrs Scully, "why don't the three of you head upstairs and take a nap for a few hours?"

Scully felt so stressed she thought that she could be given a tranquiliser and still not sleep.

"No, don't look at us like that," Anne went on, "take it seriously. It's a long drive to Rhode Island, you're going to be up all night, and then when you get there you're going to be giving around the clock care to Monica. The best thing you can do is to have a little rest now, rather than sitting here looking as though you're going to fall apart before you even reach the car."

"We'll take care of everything," Mrs Scully said, backing her up. "We'll finish the packing and wake you when the reporters are gone."

It was entirely logical, but logic had not been a part of their lives for several weeks now, and Scully only felt a swirling hurricane of emotion.

"No," John said. "We're not leaving Monica."

"Then I'll get one of the boys to carry her upstairs and she can lie with you," Mrs Scully said, not missing a beat.

"Then we wouldn't be sleeping anyway. The Doc said to give her constant supervision."

It was perhaps the most irrational argument Scully had ever heard John utter. He had dug himself into a hole and seemed to not even realise it, arguing that they could not sleep in the presence of Monica, which would therefore only increase their families' suspicions that they could not look after her by themselves. His mind was channelled purely into Monica.

Apparently Anne thought it made no sense, either.

"Look, I understand how you feel, but this is _never _going to work unless you stay calm and focused and listen to reason. Now you can't take care of someone else until you can take care of yourself, so if you want Monica to get through this you need to take a deep breath and start thinking clearly. The _best _thing you can do is rest right now. It's quite clear to us that you desperately need it. Now I don't care if you sleep or if you just want to snuggle for a few hours, so long as you rest. If you need Monica with you, if you can't bear to separate, that's fine, we'll carry her upstairs. Otherwise we're more than capable of looking after her between us."

Scully felt herself giving in. John had also been silenced, and looked as though he realised, with enormous discomfort, that his mother was right.

"You're right," Mulder said, taking a deep breath and looking up at Anne and Mrs Scully.

They looked relieved, and Scully saw them relax a little.

"Do you want Monica with you?" Anne asked.

"Absolutely, she's part of us," Mulder replied fervently. Scully knew that the worst thing they could do was to give Monica the impression she was too much to care for, and leave her with their relatives. It would be just as bad as what her parents had done in leaving for Mexico.

Scully stood up and moved out of the way as Bill came over to carry Monica upstairs. John and Mulder were still too weak to carry her themselves.

"Dana, do you want to take a sleeping pill?"

Scully looked at the small white bottle her mother was holding - one of the medications the hospital had issued to combat her insomnia. And suddenly, in the wake of their parents' speech and her realisation at how irrational they had become, the chance to zone out for a few hours, slip into sleep and leave the stress and pressure behind became extremely appealing.

"I think I might, actually," she said.

She took the bottle and headed for the kitchen for water. She was filling a glass at the tap when she felt someone pry the bottle from her clenched hand, and looked up to see it was Mulder. Without a word, he unscrewed the cap, took a pill, threw into his mouth and swallowed it on saliva alone.

Looking drained and worn out, Scully watched as he then retreated to the living room.

"It'll all be okay, Dana," Charlie said, blocking her view as he stepped in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders. "You're all going to be fine. You'll feel a lot better when you drive out of Washington, leave all this craziness behind."

"I hope so."

"You're doing the right thing."

And with an incredible gentleness, Charlie slid his arms around her and hugged her.

XXX

There was an intruder.

Footsteps.

Whispers.

Scully jerked into full consciousness with a gasp, and in the pitch black, froze, propped up on one elbow. Heart hammering, she locked onto the sound of someone at the foot of her bed. Except ... it wasn't her bed. Her mattress was not this hard. With a mixture of dread and relief, she remembered. She was on the floor of John's bedroom. She was staying in John's house. Their families had been downstairs all night.

"Is someone there?" Scully asked quietly, sitting up further while trying not to wake Mulder beside her.

"It's just us, Dana," came Charlie's soft reply.

There were more whispers. She heard Christi say, "You got the light?" and then there was a click and the glow of a dull torch lit up the carpet at her feet.

Scully blinked. She automatically sat up and looked around. First she noticed that Mulder was in a deep sleep. He was flat on his back under the blankets. The sleeping pill had worked well. She did not even remember falling asleep. She recalled coming upstairs, volunteering to take the floor with Mulder so that Monica could have the comfortable bed with John. She had a vague memory of them all desperately trying to reassure each other it was going to be okay, but the feelings of intense pressure had completely washed away now, and she felt strangely at ease.

Christi appeared at her feet, holding the torch. She shone the beam away, to the base of the bed, and knelt down to talk to her. She was still wearing the same clothes.

"You can go back to sleep if you like," Christi said softly. "We're just taking Monica for an early breakfast. Mom's made her some porridge. Then we'll get her to drink and use the bathroom, things like that. We weren't going to wake you for another half hour yet."

"What time is it?"

"Just after three. The last of the media finally left about thirty minutes ago. We waited to be sure they were gone."

There was a pause. Scully pushed back the blankets to her knees.

"You don't have to get up," Christi said kindly.

"No, it's okay. I'm not going to get back to sleep now."

Christi nodded. "You want to come have something to eat with us?"

"Yeah."

Christi helped her to her feet, and when standing Scully was able to see John was fast asleep in his bed. The covers on the other side had been pulled back, however, and glancing up through the open door and down the dark corridor, Scully saw the shadow of Charlie carrying Monica toward the stairs.

"Come on."

Christi slid her arm warmly around Scully's shoulders and walked her to the door. She pulled the door quietly closed behind them, and followed Charlie and Monica downstairs, where the house was still brightly lit and active. Someone had turned the television on to a twenty-four hour news channel, and though the volume was down low, Scully could hardly mistake what the story was about when her own face was plastered across the screen with those of her three friends. She felt a jolt inside her and was visited by a huge desire to turn around and go back to John's bedroom.

"_Mom_."

Anne looked up in response to Christi's voice, and after one quick glance at Scully's face, she made a hasty grab for the remote control and switched the television off.

Charlie gently put Monica down on the couch, and Scully saw her own mother throw him an accusing look.

"You woke her?"

"By accident," he clarified, throwing Scully an apologetic look.

"It's okay," Scully said. "It's about time we got ready anyway. We need to be well away by sunrise."

"Yes, we're sorry about that," Jana Cassidy said, who was standing nearby holding a coffee. "It took them a lot longer to disappear than it has previously. They know something's going on."

Ordinarily, Scully would have felt worried. But this time she found herself not at all bothered. The media finally going was all they needed, the pieces were all in place now for them to slip away unnoticed to Rhode Island. Jana Cassidy would hint in the morning that they had gone South toward Georgia, and John's relatives were going to back up that story.

"How do you feel, Dana?" Bill asked, scrutinising her face.

"Actually, I feel fine," Scully confessed.

"You look a _lot _better," Mrs Scully said, coming closer and moving in for a hug, which Scully happily shared with her. On the couch Anne had propped Monica up against her again and was trying to spoon some of the porridge into her mouth. Getting Monica to eat was a slow process, and Scully understood why they had planned to let the three of them sleep on for another half hour.

"Would you like some porridge?" Tara asked. "We have some more."

"Thank you, that'd be nice."

Scully followed Tara to the kitchen where she soon had herself a bowl full of warm, apple flavoured porridge. Porridge was something she had not eaten in years, but was pleased to find the taste had improved a lot since she had last tried it. The fruit flavouring helped. She headed for the kitchen doorway, back to where the large group were gathered.

"Are you sure we shouldn't wake John and Mulder?" Charlie asked the room.

"Absolutely sure," Jack said firmly.

"John would only do his caged lion impersonation," Christi explained with a smile. "Let him rest a little longer."

Scully, bowl and spoon in her hands, went to walk toward Monica on the couch, intending to sit with her, but Christi took her arm.

"I wanted a word, actually ..."

Scully nodded and followed Christi back into a corner of the empty kitchen.

"What is it?"

"I just wanted you to know I bought what you needed," Christi said quietly. "I slipped them into Monica's bag."

"Thank you," Scully said sincerely. "I just didn't relish the thought of having to go buy anything ourselves. I feel like our shopping list would make world headlines."

"It probably would," Christi agreed. She lowered her voice even further, and glanced to check they were still alone. "Which brings me to something else. I put a box in John's bag as well."

Scully met her eyes. Did Christi mean what Scully thought she meant? But she must - because her blue eyes were glinting mischievously and she seemed ever conscious of the presence of everyone else nearby.

"If he asks, it wasn't me. I just thought that if I were in their position there'd be nothing more mortifying than trying to buy them with the whole world's media advertising it. And a pregnancy is the _last _thing Monica needs."

Scully smiled. They were on the same page.

"I won't say a word," she assured her. "And I agree her body is in no condition to carry a child."

Christi nodded sadly, and glanced out to where Monica was sitting on the couch, her dangerously skeletal body being force-fed porridge by Anne.

"But thank you," Scully said, taking Christi's elbow. "You've been such a help this week. I just ... don't know where we'd be without you."

Christi smiled and stepped forward to hug her.

"You'll be fine. Just stay strong, and your love will eventually coax her out."

XXX

It felt as if it had all happened in an incredible rush. Anne, Scully and Christi had managed to persuade Monica to swallow the majority of the porridge, and had followed it up with a glass of orange juice that they had insisted she drained completely. John and Mulder had been shaken awake by Bill, and after hastily crunching their way through bowls of cornflakes, were pacing and eager to leave while it was still dark and before the morning rush hour crept up on them. The last task before they went had been to help Monica use the bathroom, and Scully, knowing they would soon have to do this alone and that it would probably fall to her to do it, volunteered to help Anne, with a few instructions from Christi on the other side of the closed door on what they should be saying in Spanish. Even though Scully was a doctor, it was not something she was accustomed to helping people with, but Anne, who had spent a lifetime as a nurse, took it in her stride and in the end it did not take as long as she feared it might.

A minute later and they were gathered downstairs, and Jana Cassidy was making the call for the Bureau car to be brought around. Their luggage, the box of games and box of food, and pile of blankets and pillows for Monica and any sleepers in the car were all stacked ready. Monica, still not supporting her own weight, had been carried from the bathroom by Charlie and was temporarily sat back on the couch.

"Let's say goodbye in here," Mrs Scully suggested. "We'll make it a quick exit in case anyone's watching."

And then, suddenly, the enormity of it hit, and Scully saw the past week in all its gory entirety. They had at first been uncomfortable with the presence of their families, but now, a week later, she could not see how they could have survived it without them. They had gone to such lengths to protect them, still probably knew a hundred times more than they were saying, but that would come later. They had been there. They had stuck with them through all their tears, sicknesses and bad moods. And they were still there and promising to stick around for the thousand that were yet to come.

It was a procession of hugging and kissing. For Scully, the most intense hug was with her mother. She could feel how scared her mother still was, but was still overwhelmed with gratitude that she was accepting of what they needed to do. The hug with Charlie had been so emotional Scully wondered where their relationship had been for the past twenty years. He had been virtually absent from her life, but now she could not imagine not having him around, always understanding her thinking, knowing her so well. He was more than a brother now - he was a friend, and one who she did not want to lose to the Navy again, to stretching years of absences and only the occasional Christmas together. And Bill - the hug from Bill contained a tenderness she had never in her _life _associated with her older brother, and his encouragement that she was doing the right thing and that she would definitely make it helped to strengthen her. And then there was Tara, who Scully felt guilty about for keeping her in Washington with her two young children on the other side of the continent, but who had taken it easily.

But with all the intense emotion Scully felt in saying goodbye to her family, it was nothing to what was shared between the Doggetts. When Scully had long finished hugging her relatives and they were moving through Mulder and the silent, non-responding Monica, John and his mother, father and sister were still going. All four of them were in tears, and the hugs were not short and polite, but organ-bursting squeezes, arms wrapped tight around each other as if they never wanted to let go. Watching them, Scully felt her own heart began to implode under pain for what she knew John was enduring. He loved Monica so much he was selfless in his own needs. She could see clearly in the tight, openly crying hug he shared with Christi that he needed desperately to go to Atlanta, but that he was putting this need aside to help get Monica well. He was surrendering his own lifeline in order to save the woman he loved.

And when they pulled away - and Scully stepped forward and slid her arm around his waist - the Doggetts went through the same process with Monica. They did not dare squeeze her delicate body as tightly as they had John's, and she did certainly not respond to anything they did, but stared resolutely ahead with the same distant expression, but they nevertheless delivered the same amount of love. They held her tenderly, kissed her softly, whispered endless sentences about how she was absolutely, _definitely_, no questions about it family, and how they would never, _ever _abandon her, but understood that if she needed to be alone with Dana, Mulder and John, then that was perfectly okay. But they _did _love her, and they hoped that one day she might feel comfortable with giving them a chance to prove it.

And then, when Scully thought they must be worn out, she was surprised to find herself and Mulder on the receiving end as well, being given kind hugs by Anne and Jack, and another one from Christi even though they had hugged only fifteen minutes before. And they insisted that they would be welcome in their houses in Atlanta, should they still want to eventually go there, and all of Scully's family would of course be definitely coming, too. In the distance, beyond the cloud of salt water looming in the air, Scully heard the sounds of the Bureau car being parked outside, felt a gust of icy air from an open door, and then heard the Assistant Director of the FBI and the world famous Doctor Cheung actually carrying out their bags and all their gear and packing the car for them.

At last, when everyone had hugged everyone and they had all cried enough tears to fill the Amazon River, they stood back in a circle and a final silence hung awkwardly in the air. Scully stood holding Mulder's hand. John was sitting on the couch with Monica.

"Promise us again you'll look after each other," Anne said, looking between the four of them.

"We promise," John said quickly, reaching to squeeze his mother's hand.

"If it proves too hard, you'll come back," Jack added. "No dangerous heroics."

"We will," Mulder agreed.

"You'll call us," Mrs Scully said. "Keep in touch."

"Yes," Scully said, nodding. "Three times a day at least."

They nodded. Another awkward silence passed as they all tried to put off the inevitable.

"We'll wait for you here in Washington," Jack said.

"And we'll come back," Mulder said. "We'll meet you here and we'll all go Atlanta together."

"_Driving_," John added quickly.

Christi nodded. "Driving."

Another awkward silence passed.

"We'll we'd better go," Scully said, tugging on Mulder's hand. "We want to be far away before the morning traffic starts."

It took all of Scully's willpower, but she forced herself to take the first step forward, and in doing so, John and Mulder automatically moved with her. Charlie stepped forward to carry Monica to the car, and as a group, they headed for the front door.

The night was even darker than before, and the cold about twice as skin-slicing. AD Cassidy and Doctor Cheung hadn't dared to turn the front porch light on, fearing it would attract unwanted attention, and so had packed the car with just torchlight. Two FBI agents, who Scully now knew had been on media watch in the street and had brought the Bureau car around, were standing nearby at the fence, scrutinising the streetscape with expressions like guard dogs.

"It has a full tank of gas," Jana said to Mulder. "So you won't need to stop. Just take this card and ask one of your family friends to fill it up again when you get there."

Scully pulled her coat tight around her to fend off the cold. She headed for the front passenger door. She knew Mulder would be driving, as he was the only one who knew where the house was. Charlie was laying Monica across the back seat. As Scully watched, John climbed in and helped Charlie shift her until Monica had her head back on the pillow in John's lap. Charlie then grabbed one of the blankets and spread it over her, being careful to tuck it in around her feet and legs. Anne, Jack and Christi made their way to the open door at John's side.

"And don't worry about the media," Jana said to them. "We'll have them all in Atlanta by lunchtime."

"Thanks for your help," Mulder said to Jana. "You've been ..."

"A life saver," Scully finished honestly, joining them at Mulder's side.

"I'm just doing my job," Jana said modestly.

"No you're not," John said from behind them. "You're doing a _hell _of a lot more than that."

Jana gave a small smile, but she retained her professionalism.

"I wish you the best of luck," she said, reaching to shake hands with Scully and Mulder. "If there's anything you need, call me straightaway."

Mulder nodded. "Thanks again."

He turned, and with the keys in his hand, made his way around the car to the driver's seat. Scully took a deep breath, and forced herself to turn and open her own door. She paused there for a second, one hand on the roof, and looked at the crowd standing in the darkness, lit up only just by the torchlight carried by Jana and Doctor Cheung.

"Stay strong, Dana," Charlie said.

John, with a final squeeze of his family's hands, reluctantly shut the car door. The tinted window blocked him completely from view, but it whirred its way down a moment later.

There was a silence. A small breeze played with the ends of Scully's hair.

"You'd better go," Jana said quietly. "Before someone sees you."

And Scully finally forced herself to turn and climb in to the soft leather seat. She pulled the door shut, leaned back, and closed her eyes. Her hands gripped the edges of her seat, and she felt one of Mulder's large hands rest itself over her own, fingers creeping in between hers and locking them together.

"We're doing the right thing, Scully."

"I know," she breathed. Then, when there was silence, she took an enormously deep breath and opened her eyes again.

She turned her head against the backrest to look at Mulder and felt her confidence escalate.

"I know," she said again, and this time her voice sounded solid. "We'll make it."

"We will," she heard John say behind her, and his hand reached around and squeezed her shoulder.

And with that, John rolled up his window, Mulder switched on the ignition, and to a chorus of loving "I love you"s they departed John's house in Falls Church, and glided out to meet life by themselves once again.


	22. Chapter 22

_HUGE thanks to KappaOmega, Daisyz, Lynn and Truth Believer for sending in feedback on the last part. You guys keep me writing! _

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**Chapter 50 - Alone at Last**

An hour later, they were clear of the cities and heading north on the open highway. It was still pitch black outside, as it was only just past four o'clock, but the overcast sky that had blacked out light over Washington had cleared to a blanket of twinkling stars, millions upon millions of glittering lights looking down upon them. And in the passenger seat, Scully relaxed. Leaving Washington felt like escaping from prison, and now she was cruising along the dark, empty highway, she had her freedom again. She was free of the media, free of the FBI Hoover building that had been the workplace of sixteen of her dead colleagues, and free of the millions of other judgemental human beings who were either irritatingly curious or who just didn't understand. She was finally alone with Mulder, John and Monica again, and in her relief suddenly the prospect of bringing Monica back to them felt entirely achievable. Charlie had been right. Yet again he had known her better than she knew herself. He had said she would feel better once they were clear of Washington, and he had been correct.

They hadn't said much to each other since leaving Falls Church. John had attempted some Spanish, stroking Monica's hair on the pillow in his lap and telling her he loved her, using the words Christi had taught him before they left. She had also written down several other key phrases and sentences for them, which were on a slip of paper in Mulder's coat. But how to say "I love you" was the only one John had been interested in.

But now, with Washington behind them, Scully turned around to view John and Monica in the back seat. She was surprised, but enormously relieved, to see that Monica's eyes were closed. Scully could tell from her breathing that she had fallen asleep.

"Is she asleep?" Mulder asked, trying to glance over his shoulder while keeping his eyes on the road ahead at the same time.

"Yeah," Scully replied softly.

"Good," Mulder replied. "Hopefully some rest will help."

There was a pause. Scully looked up from Monica to see John's worried face, just visible in the starlight, leaning back flush against the headrest. He had one arm tucked around Monica's body, over the blanket, and the fingers of his other still entangled lovingly in her hair.

"So how do you suggest we go about this?" John asked them quietly. "You two got a plan?"

"Just hold her and love her, I guess," Scully suggested, remembering how the same tactics had helped herself. "And try to get her mind to acknowledge the fact that in spite of what she's lost, she still has us. And that whatever she does, we won't leave her."

"Well from what the Doc said, it sounds as if her mind hasn't even left the fight yet. He said she's in shock, locked onto it. That's why she's only listening to Spanish. In that state it's gonna be a tall order to get her to recognise _anything_, much less consider the possibility that our love can replace the void of her own parents."

"Well however difficult it is, we're going to have to find a way."

They looked at each other, but no ideas came, and John turned his attention to Mulder.

"What do you think, Mulder?"

Mulder glanced at them briefly before returning his eyes to the road. "Where do you stand on tough love?"

"I hope you aren't suggesting we bully it into her," John returned.

"She's not strong enough for that, Mulder," Scully said. "It's only going to take one false move and she'll give up entirely. She's nearly there now."

"I'm not talking about being harsh," Mulder said calmly. "We'll still be every bit as gentle and loving, if not more so. I merely mean that we don't give up on the first sign of resistance. It's exactly what she did to us when we gave up on our hike out. She found a way to save us, no matter what we dealt her in the process. And it's the same here. We can work in baby steps, start with the things we know she can do, like holding her own weight and standing up. Or getting her to recognise English again. We know she can do those things, and it's not a leap to encourage her to try. If she succeeds, it'll be great, and if she reacts negatively, gets violent or emotional, then it'll still be a step up from the shock she's in now. Any release of emotion, anything to snap her back to the present, would be a help."

It made sense, although Scully could not help feeling nervous at the thought of how Monica might react to their persistence. But still, she thought, weak though they were, they could still overpower Monica if it became necessary. She was so thin herself.

"Does that sound reasonable?" Mulder asked, when both of them remained silent.

After a moment, Scully saw John nod.

"I'm willing to try just about anything."

"Scully?"

"Yes," she replied. "So long as we're careful. I don't want to push her over the edge."

"We won't," Mulder said. "We won't even be letting her anywhere near it."

XXX

They were only two hours further up the highway when Monica woke. Scully had been staring out the window in a tired daze, taking in the passing landscape and thinking again of the people they had lost on the mountain. Then she heard a tiny whimper behind her, and twisted around to see Monica stirring.

"Monica?" John immediately started stroking her hair again and tightened his arm around her waist. "Hey there."

Monica blinked. She looked heavily disoriented as she opened her eyes and turned her head a little.

Scully reached between the seats and under the blanket to find one of her friend's limp hands. She held it firmly within her own.

"Monica, it's Dana," she said, reaching with her other hand to touch her friend's cheek. "It's Dana, John and Mulder. You're safe. You're in a car with us on the way to Rhode Island."

"For some time alone," John added, watching hopefully as Monica continued to blink and wonder where she was.

"_John _..."

It was a faint whisper, but it was definitely Monica's voice. And, what was more, Scully felt the limpness leave Monica's hand. She did not return the pressure, but she could tell she was feeling it, and most probably knew who she was.

"Yeah, it's me," John said, with excited hope, leaning further over her and trying to turn her to look into her eyes. "It's me, Dana and Mulder. Just the four of us."

But Scully's heart - which had been so quickly inflamed with hope - imploded again as she saw memory return in Monica's eyes and with it came the blank stare and the limpness in her muscles once again. Scully could tell that the temporary disorientation had lifted, and Monica plainly remembered what had happened, how her parents had left her ...

"Keep her talking," Mulder said quickly.

"Can you speak to us?" John asked her, stroking back her hair. "Monica, can you say something?"

But Monica had sunk once again into the memory of her parents' fight, their storming out and abandoning her ... her eyes were as blank as before.

"Come on, Monica. We love you more than anything and we want to help. But you have to communicate with us. You've gotta meet us halfway."

John's voice was breaking as he pleaded with her and his eyes were glistening with tears under the starlight.

"_Talk _to us, Monica," Scully said sternly. "Tell us about the pain you're feeling. No matter how bad it is."

Monica stared blankly at the ceiling of the car.

Scully, as gently as she could, took hold of Monica's chin and turned it so she could look into her eyes. She held them firmly.

"_Talk _to us, Monica. _Tell _us how you feel."

"If you're in pain, let us help carry some of it," John pleaded. "Just talk. That's all you gotta do. Just talk and we can help make the pain lessen."

Scully felt sudden pressure against her hand as Monica tried to twist her chin out of Scully's grip, but Scully held her firmly where she was. She could see the pressure building in Monica's eyes, could see the depression and the blank stupor trying to tighten its claws around her soul once again, and Scully was determined not to give it the chance. She forced Monica to look at her, to not surrender to it, turn away and show them her back as she had before in John's house.

"_Talk _to me, Monica. It doesn't matter how strong the pain is that you're feeling. Just s_hare _it with us. We can take it. If you need to scream, then scream. If you need to cry, we're right here to hold you. If you need to rip something to shreds, there's a blanket lying right over you. Whatever you need, we're right here. Just _let _us in."

Monica began to struggle. She tried to twist her chin out of Scully's grasp, but Scully held her in place. Monica then tried to pull her hand away, too, but Scully was stronger, and she kept Monica's hand wrapped tight in her own.

"We'll let go when you talk to us," John said firmly, helping to hold Monica in place, forcing her to meet Scully's eyes.

And then Monica murmured something in Spanish. It was a short sentence, and Scully thought she recognised a pronoun, but she had no idea what Monica had said. She saw Mulder hurriedly pull out his cell phone and the card with the scribbled contact numbers of the FBI Spanish translators Jana Cassidy had put on 24 hour standby.

"Say it again," John said to Monica. "Say it in English."

Monica muttered the same sentence in Spanish.

"In English, Monica," Scully said firmly. "We want to help, but we don't understand Spanish. You have to talk to us in English."

In the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel, Mulder was talking into his cell phone. "This is Special Agent Fox Mulder, I need an urgent translation on some Spanish ..."

Scully heard a young woman talking on the other end, and then Mulder made an attempt at the words Monica had muttered.

As Mulder spoke them into the phone, Monica began to repeat them again, over and over like a delirious broken record. Mulder repeated the phrase into the phone with more confidence.

"Try English, Monica," John said, as kindly yet as sternly as he could. "You gotta give it to us in English."

Monica kept up her delirious murmurs of Spanish.

"English, Monica," Scully pleaded, softening her voice a little and loosening her grip on her chin. "Say it in English."

On the phone, Mulder said, "Are you sure?"

Scully turned her attention to Mulder. His voice sounded pained.

"What is it?" she asked.

"All right, can you hold the line?"

Mulder put the phone down in his lap and then turned to look at Scully with a grim expression.

"What's she saying?" John asked, tearing his worried gaze away from Monica, who was still deliriously circling the same phrase in his lap.

"I want to die."

XXX

"_No_," John said immediately, as Scully felt her own heart break. He tightened his grip on Monica and Scully let go of her chin so John could steer her to look at him instead. "_No_, Monica. It's tough, but you're gonna be okay. You're not gonna die. We're not gonna _let _you die. You've gotta fight it."

Monica chanted the same phrase. _I want to die, I want to die, I want to die ..._

The car swerved and Scully was forced to make a sudden grip on the edge of her seat as Mulder impulsively took a right angle turn off the highway, onto a deserted dirt road. He went a few hundred yards before pulling over behind some trees, where no one could see them.

"If you die, then we die too," Scully said matter-of-factly, squeezing Monica's hand, which was no longer limp but incredibly tense. "We can't live without you. You know none of us can live without each other."

But Monica whimpered pathetically again, _I want to die ..._

"_Fight _it, Monica," John said firmly, holding her gaze. "You can't give up like Holly and Follmer did. We know how your parents hurt you. It's a pain no one should ever have to bear. But you still have us. You're not alone. Don't ever _think _you're alone."

Monica stopped chanting. The last words John had spoken were the same that Monica had repeatedly used on the three of them on the mountain.

Mulder turned off the ignition and unsnapped his seatbelt. He turned around and shared the gap between the seats with Scully, reaching to touch Monica.

"We know it hurts," Mulder said. "We know it's absolute agony and there's not a whole lot we can say to heal it. It's true that Scully and I have both lost parents of our own, and that was tough enough without adding the extremely hurtful circumstances under which your mother and father have left you. But I _can _say that we're being honest when we say how much we love you, that we can't live without you and we'll do whatever it takes to help get you through this. I can also say that I know precisely how it feels to go through something like this with no family to back you. I know how it is to look at the family support John and Scully have, and to feel jealous of their bond. But I can also tell you with absolute certainty that life still exists out there. And that even in spite of what we've had to endure, we have still had good times. And sometimes it is just the little things. If you remember Scully tickling your feet in the hospital just the other day and how it felt to hear her laugh. You remember the love we felt as we hugged her better after her breakdown in the hospital. You remember the joy we felt in Vancouver when we toasted to our friendship and the fact that each other were smiling again."

"And so many other things, Monica," Scully added, squeezing her hand again. "I know I remember listening to John telling me his version of Cinderella when I couldn't sleep, and that for a moment, his humour, his smile, and your enjoyment of it all dulled the pain. I remember clearly the look on your face when you had hypothermia and we tucked you in with John. I remember the look on John's face, too. We know how much you love him, and how much he loves you. And surely you must still feel that moment in the laundry when the two of you declared your love. And I remember thinking how beautiful it was to know that despite all horror we'd been exposed to, all the heart-wrenching things we'd seen and all the negative feelings that still hold us, that something as radiant as true love can still exist and outshine everything else. And I think now that if you can fight this, what you're suffering now, then there are still a thousand more beautiful moments to be lived."

There was a long pause. The distant look in Monica's eyes had evaporated, and Scully knew she had heard every word they had said. But she remained silent.

"I'll tell you one thing I remember," John said, who'd been listening to Scully and Mulder's speeches with tears in his eyes, "is how when you had that fever the other night, and Dana was helping you off with your clothes and I heard the two of you talk about a night on the mountain when you'd watched the stars. And that even in the freezing cold, the biting air, the two of you stood there. You referred to it as a magic moment, something neither of you would ever forget. And I'm no philosopher. I've never been academic like the three of you. But I think it's true that even in the worst of circumstances, what we went through, life can still often have a bright side if you just look hard enough. In my case, I knew this from the past already. I had to lose my own son before I discovered the beauty inside my own family. And now we had to lose sixteen colleagues before we even found the potential for friendship within each other. And that if you can possibly help us fight the pain you're in now, then who's to say what we're gonna discover tomorrow?"

"We just need you to stand with us," Mulder emphasised. "It's all there for the taking if you can just let us help you."

"We love you, Monica," Scully said. "Don't leave us."

They waited on tenterhooks. And then, at last, Monica gave another small whimper and tears slipped freely from her eyes. John gathered her tighter in his arms as she began pleading something in Spanish, over and over just as she had done with her wish to die, and Mulder raised his cell phone to his ear again, resuming the conversation with the young agent who had remained on hold and repeating Monica's Spanish to her.

"What's she saying?" Scully asked quietly.

"Please love me," Mulder repeated.

Scully felt relief wash through her.

"But we do," Scully couldn't help saying. "We can't love you any more than we already do."

John again made use of the "I love you" Spanish he had rehearsed with Christi, and he whispered it in her ear as he pulled her upright in his lap. He curled his arms around her and hugged her tight against him. Scully and Mulder sat watching as the two shared a tight embrace, and as John cried with her and kissed every part of her that his lips could reach. Monica sank into his chest, head bowed against his shoulder and soaked it all in as she cried.

"You wanna look at the stars?" John asked her, when several minutes had passed and her tears had eased a little. "They're stunning. You can see them to the horizon in every direction."

"Let's do it," Mulder said suddenly, and he opened his car door and went to the back one near John. A minute later, he had helped Monica out of the car and onto her feet. She still had trouble supporting herself, but Scully had never felt more hopeful for her condition, because her friend's outpouring of emotion was the best sign they could have hoped for. She was still not letting go of her Spanish, but if they continued to seize their opportunities and refuse to let her slip back into depression, she would get better. They _could _get her better.

John pulled the blanket from the back seat, wrapped it around Monica, and he and Mulder helped her walk shakily a little way from the car, where there was some soft grass. There, sheltered from the eyes of the world by the line of trees, the four of them raised their eyes to the glorious show of stars, proving to themselves that John was right: there were nice moments to be had if a person only paused long enough to see them.

XXX

It was daylight when they finally reached Rhode Island. During the last half hour or so of the trip, Scully became grateful for Jana Cassidy's insistence that they take a Bureau car with tinted windows. The early morning streets of Rhode Island were packed with commuters, and the frequent stops and starts in the traffic flow would have led to thousands of people gawking at them, if it hadn't been for the one-way tinting.

Mulder had been telling the truth when he told them his beach house was secluded, and when they finally reached it and drove up the long driveway, weaving their way through the forest, she felt herself relax once again, knowing instantly that it had been right move to leave Washington and come there. It was a small wooden house, perched not far from the cliffs that shot straight down to the beach below. And the house also bore signs of recent work. At the rear, there was the frame of another room to be added on, but was as yet unfinished, and it was plain to Scully that the outside walls had been recently painted.

In the back seat, Monica had again drifted off to sleep, physically, psychologically and emotionally exhausted. Knowing she desperately needed this sleep, they let it take her, feeling reassured by her recent progress in recognising their use of English, and letting out some emotion. Scully felt hopeful that after more sleep Monica might be a little stronger again and ready to take another step.

"Well, here we are," Mulder said, gliding the car to a stop beside the house. Scully looked out to sea and saw it was a rough day, the waves crashing into each other and smashing into the rocks on the headland not too far from the house, creating a huge white spray that flew into the air.

Scully turned around in her seat and reached again for Monica's hand. "Time to wake up, Monica. We're here."

John trailed his fingers down the side of her face, but it was Mulder opening the rear door for them that woke her, as the freezing cold salty air soared into the car.

Monica whimpered and freed her hand from Scully's, raising it to shield her face.

"We're at Mulder's beach house," John explained, catching the hand and holding it in his own. "If you can sit up, we'll help you inside."

"You can go right back to sleep once you're in," Mulder said kindly, leaning into the car. "There's a comfortable bed all ready for you."

"Come on," John said, lifting her into an upright position. "You can't stay here."

Scully slid the pillow from John's lap and also unwrapped the blanket from Monica's lower body. Then she exited the car and walked around to join Mulder - tugging the sides of her coat even tighter around herself as she did - and she took the house keys that he held out for her.

"That's it," Mulder said, helping John manoeuvre her. "Now just swing your legs around toward me and I'll help you stand."

"Come on," John said encouragingly. "We know you can do it."

Scully jogged up the creaky wooden stairs to the front door of the beach house. A verandah spread the entire length of the house's front, giving a perfect view out to sea, what must have been an incredible atmosphere on a warm summer's day, when Mulder had come to the house with his family in his childhood. A wooden bench sat along one of the walls beneath the window, and in the corner, hanging from the wooden beams under the corrugated iron roof was a set of wind chimes singing in the morning breeze. At the top of the metal pipes was an elegant stained glass butterfly, and somehow the sight made Scully think immediately of Samantha. Had it been hers?

Tearing her attention back to the present, Scully slid the key into the lock of the front door, unlocked it, and swung the door open as Mulder and John helped Monica up the creaky wooden stairs to the house. They were mostly carrying her, and she looked as if she didn't even know where she was and was yet to emerge properly from sleep. Each of the men had one of her arms around their shoulders, and were sharing her weight as they practically carried her up the stairs, Monica's feet stumbling on a task that was as yet too difficult, and her eyes and mind much too drained to keep track of her surroundings.

Scully held the door open for them as they passed through, and Mulder steered them to a bedroom at the rear of the house.

Following them there, Scully saw it was a cosy bedroom with a double bed and a large window. The wallpaper was of flowers and birds, and was peeling in places, but the brass bed was definitely new, and it had been freshly made with a corner of the blankets and sheets already turned down all ready for them. The fluffy white carpet was also new, and very soft underfoot, and outside the window Scully saw the tops of some rose bushes. The whole house had an air of being in the process of renovations, undoubtedly, Scully knew, arranged by Mulder and overseen by Reg and Clare, who also seemed to be responsible for making the bed in preparation for their arrival.

"Sit down here," John said, easing Monica down onto the mattress where the blankets were turned down.

Scully handed Mulder's keys back to him and then knelt on the carpet. She slipped Monica's jogging shoes from her feet, leaving her in her warm socks.

"Do you want to change into some pyjamas or would you like to sleep as you are?" Scully asked, putting her hands on Monica's knees.

But Monica was incapable of answering. Her face was not the terrifying blankness that had greeted them at John's place. She now had the look of a person who was struggling, and failing, to make sense of things. It was as if a powerful tornado had ripped through her brain, overturning everything, and now in its wake Monica was left struggling to put back together the fragments she was left with.

Scully wrapped Monica's hands in her own.

"Well how about you just rest as you are for now, get some sleep, and we can help you change later."

She did not reply, but Scully took charge and stood up to undo her friend's thick coat. She worked her way down the buttons, and then pushed it back off her friend's shoulders, where the job was taken over by John. He pulled it from her thin body and placed it on the end of the bed.

"We should take her jeans off," John said. "You can't curl up in jeans."

And so Scully helped John and Mulder pull Monica to her feet again. Mulder and John held her, supporting her weight, as Scully unzipped Monica's jeans and pulled them down her legs. They were so baggy on her now that it was easy work and they practically heaped at her feet on gravity alone, only leaving Scully to pull them off her feet and put them on the end of the bed with her coat.

Now just in her black lace underwear and a grey cotton top, John helped her into bed, Mulder tucking her feet and legs under the covers before pulling them over her and tucking them in under the mattress.

"You just sleep now," John said, lowering himself to sit on the bed beside her and stroking back her hair. "It's all gonna be okay."

"Would you like us to say with you?" Scully asked.

"It's perfectly okay if you do," Mulder added. "You know we love you, and it wouldn't bother us at all."

But Monica didn't reply. She had already closed her eyes and sunk into the pillow.

"I'll stay," John said, looking up to Mulder and Scully.

Scully nodded, and she moved forward and leaned over Monica. She kissed her on the temple.

"John's going to stay here, and Mulder and I will be just in the next room, okay? If you need us, for _any _reason at all, just call out. If you just want us nearby, if you need a hug, or maybe just need to hear again that we love you, that's okay. Anything at all, okay? We love you and we're _not _going to leave you."

Scully kissed her friend again on the cheek before pulling away and letting Mulder in to give her a few parting words as well. John was already on the other side of the bed and removing his outer clothing to get in beside her.

"You'll stay awake?" Scully asked him. Monica's plea to die was still fresh in her mind, as was the doctor's warning that it would only take seconds to carry out.

"Yeah," he said, nodding. "Don't worry. I won't let her try anything."

"If you get tired, call one of us in," Mulder said. "We can't afford to take any risks."

John, now in his t-shirt and boxers, climbed in beside Monica.

"That's why I'm staying awake."

XXX

Scully and Mulder shut the bedroom door behind them, stepping back into the cosy living room. Like everything else about the house, it was small and a mixture of new and old. The carpet was the same new fluffy white that had been applied in the bedroom, but all the furniture was original, including an old lumpy lounge suite with blankets lying over the top, a hand-made coffee table, and an ancient television set on a stand in the corner. There was also an old open fireplace, with wood stacked ready for use, a record player, and all over the room were photographs from Mulder's childhood. Samantha's smiling face beamed at them from every corner.

"I can see why you wanted to come back here," Scully said, stopping at a large cabinet to view a photo of Mulder and Samantha building a huge sandcastle on the beach. Mulder didn't look any older than ten, and every bit as happy as all other boys his age, smiling, smothered with sand.

Mulder shrugged. "It's the ideal place for healing. I've always thought of it as a little hideaway - a cosy corner of the world that never changes."

Scully nodded, and she walked with Mulder back to the front door, on their way to bring in all the bags and things from the car. But something was bothering her, and by the time they reached the car and Scully swung her bag over her shoulder, she decided she could not hold the question in as she had hoped to.

"I can't believe you never told me about it, Mulder."

He shrugged again. He looked disappointed and avoided her eyes as he picked up Monica's bag.

"I was saving it. I've spent the past six months having it done up. Reg and Clare have been helping me. I got the new carpet, new paintwork, going to have the extra bedroom put on and the bathroom updated. It was going to be a surprise for you when it was finished. After the past few years, the things that have happened, I felt you deserved a vacation - a little place of our own where we could relax every once in a while. But then this happened, and ... I never expected this."

He leaned against the car, looking depressed and forlorn in the sunshine. Scully let her bag fall to the ground and moved toward him.

"I don't think anyone expected this," she said, reaching up to touch his shoulder.

She pulled him into a hug, and he tugged her tight against him. She could feel him on the verge of tears as his large hands grasped needily at her waist, almost clawing her to him in his need for comfort. And Scully wrapped her arms around his shoulders, stroking comfortably, allowing herself to kiss his neck as she felt the tension in his body gradually dissipate.

After a minute, Scully felt him relax entirely and she slipped backwards, hands on his hips.

"Anyway," she said, moving one hand to the front of his chest. "Had you _had _the opportunity to surprise me, I imagine I would have been absolutely flattered."

An appreciative smile emerged on his lips and Scully saw the characteristic twinkle in his eye that always led to an innuendo of some kind, but as he opened his mouth to deliver it, he stopped, looking over her shoulder.

Scully turned around to see a couple in their sixties walking up the driveway. Reg was a tall man, was quite overweight with a belly that stuck out absurdly, and he had a mass of unkept grey hair that had spread down into a beard. His wife, Clare, was also slightly overweight, but looked like a bubbly woman with a friendly smile.

"_Mulder_," Reg said, smiling as they hurried toward them.

Mulder stepped out around Scully and headed for his old family friends. In seconds they were wrapped up in tight, warm hugs. All three were beaming at the reunion.

"My _word_, you've lost weight!" Reg said, his smile fading as he scrutinised Mulder's form.

"Occupational hazard," Mulder said easily, unbothered.

"And you must be Dana Scully," Clare said, sidestepping the men and heading to Scully, who had picked up their bags from the ground again.

"And you must be Clare," Scully returned.

Scully had been intending to shake her hand, but soon found herself wrapped up in a warm hug. It felt strange to be hugged so warmly by someone she had known only five seconds, but as they were old friends of Mulder's, Scully returned the hug and did her best to not show the awkwardness she felt.

"We're Clare and Reg Watkins," the woman said. "We've lived here and known Mulder since he was a baby."

"You live here?" Scully asked.

"Next door," Clare said, pointing to the forest, surrounding the house, behind which was a stretch of other secluded houses.

"We don't know _where _Mulder has been hiding you all these years," Reg said, coming forward to hug her as well and pressing a prickly kiss to her cheek.

"But where are John and Monica?" Clare asked Mulder. "Weren't they coming as well?"

"They're asleep inside," Mulder said, reaching into the back of the car to pick up the box of food.

"Uh-uh!" Reg said, hurrying toward him. "Don't you touch anything, we can do that for you."

"Absolutely, let us help," Clare echoed, reaching to pick up Monica's bag that Mulder had put down earlier.

There was no resisting it, but it was not worth arguing. Scully understood the need so many other people felt to do something to help them, even if it was just carrying in their bags. So she allowed herself to be shunted back inside with Mulder, where they put everything down and Reg insisted on lighting the open fire for them, to keep them all warm. Mulder, who Scully could not help noticing had perked up immeasurably upon the reunion, slipped his arm around her shoulders and was asking questions of Reg, about whether he'd been fishing lately, and Reg gave Mulder a medical report on how his body wasn't as able as it used to be ... and Scully eyed them all and knew now for sure that coming to Rhode Island had been only partly for Monica's benefit. Part of it too had been a secret desire to get back to his own roots. Mulder had no family, but he had his family's old beach house, with many of their possessions still intact, and he also had two people who had known him and his family for over forty years.

It was the next best thing.

But however much it helped Mulder, and as much as Scully loved him and wanted him to have everything he needed, to Scully Reg and Clare were still two perfect strangers, and she could not help feeling unbearably awkward in their presence. She did not miss the way their eyes skated over her thin body, did not miss the way they carefully avoided all the obvious questions and were sticking to meaningless small talk about Reg's ailments and Clare's charity work. And it filled her with an overwhelming sense of depression, that this was how it would always be from now on. They would never again be everyday people, never slip into a crowd unknown. They were the FBI mountain survivors, the ones who had watched eighteen people die and then eaten their bodies to survive themselves. And they were either to be hated, fervently admired, or treated delicately, and none of these approaches served Scully well. And as she stood there, she knew she had to get away. She could not yet face new people, was not strong enough to pretend nothing had happened to her. But she did not want to deprive Mulder of the chance to enjoy their presence, either.

"I'm going to call my Mom," Scully said to him, as soon as a gap in the conversation appeared. "Let her know we made it here safely."

"Of course," Mulder said, but his eyes scrutinised hers, and his expression became worried. He knew what she was feeling, knew why she had found the excuse.

He confirmed it when he leaned forward and gently kissed her on the lips.

"Don't go far," he said quietly, so Reg and Clare could not hear.

Scully nodded, and even smiled, because his concern made her feel a little better.

"I'll just be on the verandah."

XXX

On the verandah, Scully headed straight for the wooden bench at the far end and sat down. There was still a cold wind tinkling around the wind chimes, but otherwise it was a spectacular day, for the dead of winter. The sound of the crashing waves and smell of saltwater also relaxed her because it made her think of her father, and so somehow, being near the sea now helped in feeling his presence.

Scully dialled her mother's number into her FBI cell phone and waited as it rang one, two, three, four times ...

"Dana?"

"Mom, hi," Scully said, leaning her body back against the wall of the house and gazing out to the breaking waves in the ocean. "I'm just calling to tell you we've made it to Mulder's beach house in Rhode Island, and we're all safe and sound."

"Oh, thank God." Scully heard her mother breathe a sigh of relief. "And how do you feel? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Scully said automatically. "In fact it's a beautiful day here, it's quite incredible."

Scully heard doubt fill her mom's voice. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Scully said, swallowing a painful lump in her throat and instead gazing idly out as a particularly large wave broke. "The house is right on the cliffs, overlooking the ocean ..."

"And Fox? John and Monica? How are they coping?"

"Mulder's fine," Scully said, swallowing another painful lump and willing her voice to stay level. "He's doing a lot better, actually. He's inside catching up with Reg and Clare."

There was a slight pause. Scully heard the distinct sounds of the phone being pulled away and her mother talking quietly to someone else in the room.

"And John and Monica?" she asked when she came back onto the line.

"They're asleep," Scully answered.

Again, there was the sound of the phone being discretely pulled away. The sound was muffled, as though someone had their hand clamped over the microphone.

When her mother emerged again, her voice was calm and firm.

"Dana, I'm going to put Anne on for a second. She wants to say something."

"Okay."

Scully waited as the phone was passed over and prepared herself for a line of inquiry into John's health, but was surprised when none came.

"Dana, it's Anne. Honey, we need you to tell us the truth, okay? We know how you're feeling. Your mom knows you better than this, and I have to say that after the week we've had together, so do Jack and I. Now it's just the three of us here, everyone else is in bed, so please give it to us straight. We need you to keep the lines of communication open and honest, okay? Otherwise it makes it very hard for us to help."

Scully swallowed. She felt tears burning the backs of her eyes. She could not bring herself to reply.

"Dana, we'd like to call you back on the landline, that way we can put you on speaker and all talk together. Just the four of us, okay?"

Scully swallowed again, and only through a monumental effort was she able to keep her voice level as she said, "Okay."

Seconds later her cell phone was ringing and Scully hit the green button to answer. She did not bother to say her name as she usually did.

She heard her own mother's voice first.

"Now Dana, please _tell _us what's going on. You sound on the verge of tears."

Scully tried to pull herself together. She took a deep breath and reined in her tears.

"No, I'm okay," she said at last. "I don't even know why I feel so ..."

She broke off, uncomfortable with finishing the sentence.

She heard Anne's voice again. "Dana, it's gonna be okay. Start by taking a deep breath for us."

Scully took a deep breath. She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to pull herself together.

"Now let's start with Monica," Jack said. "How is she: better, worse, or the same?"

"She's making progress," Scully said.

Then, slowly, Scully told them everything that had happened on the way to Rhode Island, starting with when Monica woke, disoriented, and how they had seized the moment and kept her talking. She told her three listeners how Monica was now recognising their English, although she was still clinging to Spanish in her own speech, and how Monica had chanted that she wanted to die, and then for them to love her. And then she told of how they had stargazed before returning Monica to the car to sleep the remainder of the way to Rhode Island.

"She said she wants to die?" Scully heard her mother say, alarmed.

"Yes," Scully said heavily.

"Is someone watching over her?" Anne asked quickly.

"John's with her," Scully explained. "He's staying awake."

"Thank God," Anne breathed.

"But that's still fabulous progress, Dana," Jack said encouragingly. "Even if it was terrifying. For her to respond like that when you were only a few hours out of Washington is the best scenario you could have hoped for. You know the Doctor thought it would take days, if it happened at all. So don't let it get you down, it proves you're doing the right thing."

Under Jack's encouragement, some of Scully's anguish eased.

"You said she's still speaking in Spanish?" her mother asked.

"Yes," Scully said, and was relieved to hear her voice sounded stronger now. "We're not sure why, though."

"There could be endless reasons," Anne said. "I'm inclined to think it probably has something to do with her clinging to her identity. She loses her parents and her inheritance, and so she clings all the tighter to the parts of her identity that she still has. Spanish is just one of the key elements of that. I expect we'll find some others in time."

"We'll try again when she wakes," Scully said. "Hopefully we'll be able to help her make some more progress."

"But don't rush her," Anne advised. "That was a clear breakthrough you had this morning, let her sleep now if she wants. A good long rest might be the best medicine."

"And for you as well," her mother said. "Why don't you seize the opportunity for you and Fox to get some rest."

"Well I think Mulder needs to spend some time with Reg and Clare. They're the closest thing to family he has, and I rather suspect part of the reason he wanted to come here."

"We did wonder," Jack said.

"Dana, where are you now?" her mother asked. "Are you alone?"

"I'm on the front verandah," Scully answered. "Looking out to sea."

There was a pause from the other end.

Finally, Anne asked, "Dana, what's going on?"

"You're not comfortable with them, are you?" her mother asked knowingly.

"No, I'm fine," Scully said, feeling guilty for the bad impression she was spreading of Mulder's friends. "They're decent people. I just ..."

She swallowed. She felt the hot tears building up behind her eyes again.

"Just what?" her mother asked.

"Not ready to face strangers?" Jack suggested.

Scully swallowed, tried to hold back her tears.

"Yes."

"But that's okay," Anne said easily. "Dana, that's _perfectly _okay. No one expects you to be ready yet. We understand that, and I'm sure Mulder's family friends do as well. And if you feel you aren't ready, then you've done precisely the right thing in taking a moment for yourself and phoning us. Just relax."

"Understand you can call us anytime, Dana," Jack said. "Whenever you feel like this - whenever _any _of you feel like this - just pick up the phone and call us. We don't care what time of day or night it is."

There was a pause.

"Dana, do you understand?" her mother asked.

"Yes," Scully replied, raising a finger to wipe away a stray tear. "I will, I promise."

"Good," her mother answered. "Do you feel a little better?"

"I'm getting there," Scully said honestly.

"Do you mind if we ask you about John?" Anne asked cautiously. "Is he coping?"

"He's fine," Scully said. "I mean, he's worried like the rest of us, but he's managing."

"Can you do us a favour and keep an eye on him?" Anne requested. "I don't like the idea of him lying awake for so long on his own."

"I will," Scully promised, the thought having already crossed her mind. "You don't need to worry, we'll look after each other."

"Can you get him to call us when he emerges later in the day?" Jack asked. "When he has a moment?"

"Of course," Scully said. "I'll make sure he does."

"Thank you," Anne said sincerely.

"How's everyone where you are?"

"We're all fine," her mother answered. "Charles and Christi are both asleep upstairs, Bill and Tara have gone back to my place, and Jana and the Doctor have left for the Bureau."

"And you?" Scully asked. "Are you all right?"

"We're all fine," Anne said. "We've just been talking. Don't worry about us, everything's under control here. Just look after yourselves, you're our number one priority right now."

Scully smiled. Their concern was touching. But as she went to speak, she heard the front door creak open and turned to see Mulder emerging.

"Mom, I have to go," Scully said. "But we'll call you later, okay?"

"Okay, Dana," her mother answered. "We'll hear from you later. But don't forget we love you and you can call us anytime."

"Take care and get some rest," Anne said.

"All of you," Jack added.

"We will," Scully said. "And I love you too, Mom."

XXX

"Hey," Mulder said. "Are you okay?"

He approached her on the verandah and sat down next to her on the bench. His arm snaked its way around her shoulders.

"Yeah, I'm okay," Scully said truthfully, slipping her hand onto his knee. "I just wanted to talk to my mom."

He nodded, but his eyes still held the same knowing look.

"You don't have to find excuses, Scully. I know you aren't ready to face the world, and that's okay. I feel exactly the same way. Reg and Clare know we came here for privacy, and they didn't mean to make you feel awkward by coming to greet us for a few minutes. I think they just -"

"Needed to see you," Scully filled in.

She could imagine how it must have felt for them to see Mulder on the television for the past three weeks. First hearing that he was missing, then probably dead, then alive after all thanks to the bodies of his dead colleagues, and then all over the media during the week of funerals in Washington. It was no wonder Reg and Clare had a desire to come and greet Mulder, to share a hug ...

"Did you send them home?" Scully asked.

"They left through the back door," he explained, as his hand roamed around her back. "They never intended to stay long. They just wanted to make sure we were okay."

Scully sighed. She had a heavy feeling in her heart. "Mulder, you don't have to lie. If you need to spend time with them, that's okay. We all know they've known you all your life, that they knew your family, and if you're feeling a need to -"

"I'm _not_," Mulder said, and his easy smile showed her he was telling the truth. "I won't lie that it was good to see them, but the only needs I have right now are to help Monica get better, and for the four of us to spend some time together."

Scully smiled. She rubbed his knee.

"Can you believe that?" he asked, giving her a squeeze.

"Yes, I can believe that," Scully replied.

She felt the same way.

"Then what do you say we go inside," he suggested. "Get out of this numbing wind."

Mulder insisted on giving her the full tour of the house, upon which Scully insisted on starting with the bedroom they had left John and Monica in. But when she knocked softly and opened the door she was reassured to find that she and John's parents need not have worried. He was lying on his back in the centre of the bed, and Monica was curled into him, her face resting against his chest and one arm across his waist. And John was lazily stroking her back and simply gazing at her with a level of contentment that made Scully think he was quite happy to spend the entire day like that: just holding Monica in his arms. It was certainly a side of John Scully had never seen before. From her two years of working with Doggett, Scully had come to know him as restless in the extreme and often wondered why he even needed a chair in their office, as he had never used it. If he was reading something, he read it while pacing. If he was on the phone, he was always shifting his feet or twiddling a pencil through his fingers. And when he decided he needed time out to think, he did not head for a quiet corner or local parkland as was Scully's habit, but made a beeline for the FBI gym where he would often catch up with former partners and friends and seek a second opinion while they did the rounds of the exercise machines.

But Monica had changed him, and the man who had never before sat still was now lying in bed happily telling Scully that he could look after Monica just fine, that he wouldn't fall asleep and was ordering her and Mulder to go get some rest or time to themselves.

And so they chose to leave him to it for a while longer and Mulder's tour continued. The next stop was the second bedroom. Again, it was small, and had two single beds on opposite walls. Scully knew immediately it must have been the room Mulder shared with Samantha when they had stayed there, although there were no signs of any childhood memorabilia. Mulder placed his bag beside one of the beds, and Scully, after pausing for a second, put her bag down beside the same bed. She much preferred the idea of curling up together. After their time in the plane where they all huddled together suddenly having a bed to herself felt far too spacious and she missed the company.

Following the bedroom was a brief introduction to the bathroom, where the aging facilities were painted a hideous pale pink, and then she was introduced to the last room. She found herself feeling suspicious just by the way a smile snuck across Mulder's face as he opened the door, but when he revealed the room Scully was met with a stunning sight.

"The entertainment room," he said proudly, waving her inside.

It was plainly the room that had soaked up most of Mulder's renovation funds and had been an immature, boyish first priority. The grand feature of the room was a large pool table in the centre. A large bay window also filled most of one wall, and had a seat with soft cushions and a rug that allowed a person to relax there and gaze out at the ocean. On the opposite wall was an Elvis pinball machine, and next to it was a bar fridge and a juke box.

"Do you like it?" he asked, enjoying Scully's surprised silence. "I got the pool table second-hand, half price. I got the pinball machine cheap, too ..."

"Elvis, Mulder?" Scully said, stopping in front of it and raising an eyebrow.

"The one and only," he answered proudly.

"Well, I think it's incredible," Scully said, moving to the window and looking out again at the ocean. The waves seemed rougher now. "You've done an amazing job, Mulder."

He stopped beside her as Scully continued to gaze out at the swells.

Scully felt his large hands settle on her shoulders.

"The ocean reminds you of your father, doesn't it?" he said, squeezing her shoulders as he began to massage.

"I wish he was here," Scully confessed.

She leaned back into his embrace as his arms wrapped around her front, pulling her against him. She felt him drop a soft kiss to her temple.

"What do you think he'd say if he was?" Mulder mumbled, talking into her hair as he kissed her again.

"He'd tell me to keep going," Scully said, imagining the scene. "To never give up."

"You know we won't," Mulder said, hugging her tight. "We have the power to get through this."

"I know," Scully said, closing her eyes and enjoying the feel of his arms. "As long as we're together."

XXX

The afternoon passed in a strangely relaxing haze. Several things contributed to this, the first being that Monica was still in a deep sleep in John's arms and John was still determined to take care of the supervision all on his own, and told both of them flatly that they should go relax and stop worrying. Knowing John's arms was probably the number one place Monica wanted to be, they could not argue with him. The second thing was that the quiet, remote location and rhythmic crashings of the ocean were all naturally soothing, and the third the fact that as the light dimmed over the course of the afternoon and the open fire continued to flicker warmly, the romantic atmosphere of being alone with Mulder relaxed Scully to a point where she nearly fell asleep in his arms.

She was lying in Mulder's arms on the couch facing the open fire. Early in the afternoon, after eating, she had changed into her most comfortable pair of baggy grey pyjamas and Mulder had persuaded her to join him a lazy game of chess, in which they spent long periods gazing at the chess board from their horizontal position together on the couch, and periodically forced themselves up on an elbow and reached forward to finally make their move. Conversation was minimal, and most of it was done with Mulder's hands, as they roamed over her body with a casual intimacy that Scully enjoyed. It was not a seduction. Scully knew Mulder would probably not try to sleep with her until they both climbed into the single bed later in the night - Monica's condition permitting. It was a simple game of romantic reacquaintance, a method of relaxation and de-stressing from the chaos of the past few weeks.

"Skinner's funeral will be over by now," Scully ventured softly, lifting her eyes from the chess board to glance at an old alarm clock on top of the television.

"He would have had a record crowd," Mulder replied into her ear. "A good send-off."

She knew Mulder, like her, felt guilty for their absence. But it had been inescapable, as Monica's health had to come first. They could not help Skinner now, just like they could no longer help Kim, Holly, Follmer, or any of their other colleagues. But they could still save Monica, and Scully tried to persuade herself that their absence did not mean they didn't care. She could remember Skinner and respect his life just as well from the beach house as she could in St Paul's Cathedral with swarms of politicians eager to shake their hands and thousands of FBI agents gawking at them.

"At least there's no sign of the media," Mulder said. "Jana must have succeeded in getting them to Atlanta."

"I never had any doubt she would," Scully said honestly.

But she said no more, because she did not want to particularly think about their boss when Mulder's hands were on her breasts. He had undone her pyjama shirt early in the afternoon, and it had been hanging open ever since, allowing her skin to be warmed by the heat from the open fire. Her black bra, though, had remained clasped, just as her pyjama bottoms had stayed on as well. His hands had made themselves at home on her stomach for the majority of the afternoon, but they did stray to her breasts, and to her thighs and occasionally her backside, just as his lips and tongue frequently found her own before straying to her neck, shoulders and hair. There was an unspoken line, though, and Mulder was respectful of it, just as Scully was herself in her return of the affection - she slipped her hands under his clothing to feel his bare chest and back, and once during a particularly deep kiss had found them squeezing his ass, but no clothing other than her pyjama shirt was ever unzipped, opened or discarded, and their attention regularly returned to the chess board.

"Hey."

Scully jumped, and she looked over her shoulder to see John standing there and the bedroom door behind him wide open.

"How is she?" Mulder asked straightaway, as they both sat up and Scully pulled the sides of her shirt together, even though John looked completely unbothered by it.

"Still asleep," he said. "I'm just gonna use the bathroom, get something to eat."

"I'll sit with her," Mulder volunteered, and after pressing a kiss to Scully's lips, he darted up and across the room before Scully's hazy, relaxed mind had even caught up.

Scully, her shirt still undone but covering her adequately, sat on the edge of the couch. She gazed at the chess board on the coffee table. She knew she would win, would have probably won hours earlier if she was fully awake and didn't have Mulder distracting her. Then she heard the toilet flush and John emerged again, heading for the kitchen where he went straight to their box of food and started gathering things to make himself a sandwich.

Scully joined him and leaned back against the bench.

"You want one?" John asked, raising the loaf of bread.

"No, I'm all right," Scully replied.

"You should keep your strength up," he said. "You're still far too thin."

Scully nodded, but passed over the comment. She would eat later, did not feel like it right now.

"So how's Monica?" she asked. "Any hopeful signs?"

"She's snugglin'," he replied, with an unsure shrug. "She's had an iron grip on me most of the day. I'm hopin' that means something."

"I'm sure it does," Scully said, touching his arm to reassure him. "If she's doing that she not only knows you're there, but is seeking your affection, your comfort."

"She _is _asleep when she's doing it," he replied. "We can't know anything for sure until she wakes up."

"Well that shouldn't be too far off," Scully said, eyeing a clock on the wall. It was nearly six o'clock. "She's been asleep for hours now."

John nodded. He had stacked himself a sandwich and began to rummage through drawers, looking for a knife to cut it in half with.

"By the way, your parents would like you to call them when you have a minute," Scully said.

"You've spoken to them?" he asked, now cutting his sandwich in half.

"Yeah," Scully said. "When we got here. They're fine, they just want to make sure you're okay."

"I'll call them when I've finished this," he said, picking up an overstuffed half of the sandwich.

As he went to take a bite, Scully suddenly heard Mulder's voice: low and scared.

"_Scully_."

She turned around and saw Mulder standing in the living room, looking uncharacteristically nervous. Scully and John crossed the few steps to the kitchen doorway and followed Mulder's gaze across the room to where Monica was standing in the bedroom doorway, her face raw with tears and fury.

* * *

_Strangely, this part was largely impulsive. I knew where the section started and ended, but the bulk of the middle was unplanned. I think the only part that featured in my plan was the presence of the pool table. Of course, once let loose, you can see where my mind zoomed to - straight to the MSR! I couldn't let them sleep together for reasons which will become apparent quite soon, but I nevertheless hope someone enjoyed this section! Next up is Monica on a path to recovery. I did plan to stretch this out a lot longer, but I just couldn't do it when it came to the crunch. I miss her so much already and I'm eager for them to get to their fun times in the beach house, and I usually think that if I, the writer, have had enough of a plotline then it's an excellent chance my readers have too! So I'll allow her some more progress ... please keep sending in reviews, they help so much!_


	23. Chapter 23

_Lord oh lord oh lord ... do I **hate** writing sex scenes! I am so bad at it, so I'll apologise in advance and just hope that you survive from one end to the other. Every writer has their strengths, and I'll admit up front this isn't one of mine. Having said that, I wouldn't say it's exactly love scenes that I've written either, so don't get your hopes up. But I will issue a warning for sexual references. My story rating gets stretched a little for this section. _

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 51 - Sex and Trauma**

The anger in Monica's face stopped Scully still, and all the warm greetings that had been dancing on her tongue immediately fizzled. As a doctor she could not help feeling concerned for how little Monica was wearing, for she stood there still only in the thin grey top and sexy black underwear. Her bare, emaciated arms and legs were already covered with goosebumps. But again the look of venom in Monica's eyes held her at her distance, and the thought of steering Monica back to the bedroom and finding her a robe remained a vague idea.

"You didn't tell me she speaks Spanish."

The accusation was directed toward John, who stood beside Scully and had grasped her arm for comfort upon seeing Monica before them, so angry.

Scully turned her attention from Monica to John and saw him turn the statement over in his mind. There was no doubt as to whom Monica was referring, and John did not reply straight away.

Eventually he simply nodded, shrugging a little.

"She speaks Spanish."

Monica remained silent, but Scully saw her straighten herself up a little and her eyes hardened. She looked like she had been interrogating a witness and had just succeeded in getting a confession for a gruesome crime. And though she had one hand on the door frame for balance, and was wearing so little, the body language was every bit as intimidating as it had always been, fine-tuned from over ten years as a Special Agent. But this was the first time they had been on the receiving end.

The silence was unbearably tense, and John talked on, simply to break it.

"She picked it up off one of her boyfriends in high school," he said uneasily. "Then she took it at college, got quite good."

But Monica's voice still held her accusing tone. "She's been listening in, all week."

"She's been _protecting _you all week," Mulder corrected. "With the exception of your last fight, when your condition forced out the truth, she's been consistently refusing to tell us anything."

"She wasn't trying to listen in on your private conversations, Monica," Scully added. "It was just the way things happened. In Vancouver we all shared the same ward, when I was in hospital and your parents confronted you on your relationship with Follmer, she couldn't help the fact that she was in the room at the time. And when you fought at John's place, the volume made it hard for _anyone _to avoid. And when they mentioned Luke ..."

Scully trailed off, but upon the mention of Luke, she saw Monica's anger soften. Even now, it was a subject that still brought immense sympathy to Monica, and in her expression Scully saw quite clearly that it was not Christi who Monica was angry with at all. Monica was in the grasp of an extremely complex storm of emotions, and the minor fact of not knowing of Christi's Spanish had been the easiest venting point.

When Monica spoke on her voice was softer, and her eyes even carried worry as she looked at Scully and John.

"She told you what they said."

"We forced it out of her," John said.

"You can't blame her, Monica," Scully said.

There was a pause in which Monica looked away from them for a moment, and when she eventually returned her gaze her eyes were moist.

"I don't," Monica said quietly, sighing a little. "I just wish she hadn't known, that you'd never had to find out."

There was nothing to say. But after a moment the three of them finally felt safe in moving toward her. John put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"I don't want to talk about it," she said quickly. There was a pleading look in her brown eyes. "Please."

"That's okay," Mulder said. "You don't have to say anything now."

Monica nodded, looking relieved.

Scully saw John's eyes slip down over Monica's body, to the goosebumps on her arms and legs.

"You wanna put something warm on, have something to eat with us?"

She took a deep breath, giving them a brave nod.

"Yeah. If you can give me a hand."

John put his arm around her and went to help her back into the bedroom, but they had only taken one step when Monica turned back around.

"You know for certain they went to Mexico?"

"Yes," Scully confessed.

Monica nodded sadly, expecting the answer. John tightened his arm around her, but Monica made no move to continue their trip into the bedroom.

"Have you heard anything else?" Monica asked.

"No, but we haven't been following the news."

She seemed to be searching for something, and Scully wondered what it was.

"Is there something in particular you're wondering about?" Mulder asked. "Something we can find out for you?"

Monica hesitated. For a moment, Scully thought she would back out, but then she took a deep breath and softly voiced her question.

"They'll have cut me off. I'll be out of the will."

She voiced it as though it was a certainty, and Scully saw the depressed look creep back into her eyes as she fell silent again.

"We'll find out for you," Scully said, trying to keep her voice even. Already part of her conversation with Anne sprung back into her mind, and she felt an incredible weight of dread.

"Thank you," Monica said quietly.

John continued to hold her close, and he looked down at Monica's depressed look with enormous concern, terrified she would slip again.

"You know if they have," he said, "it's gonna be okay. I mean, none of us is rich, but we have enough to keep going."

Scully nodded in agreement, as Mulder did as well. They both had money put away. Neither of them were big spenders, and since being assigned to the X-Files Scully had invested most of her pay. She owned her apartment, and after that there were only a few minor bills, such as food and electricity. Time for shopping and having a social life had always been scarce. She knew Mulder was in the same position, and probably John as well. She knew he owned his house in Falls Church, and knew him well enough now to know that there were few other expenses in his life. Like them, his career had swallowed everything else.

Monica tried to look grateful for their generosity, but the sadness lingered, and Scully could not really blame her, if it was true that her parents had financially cut her off, as she suspected it was. It was a blow enough to lose her parents without losing the millions that had been promised to her. It made Scully angry, because Monica had done nothing to deserve such brutal treatment.

And the heavy silence prevailed. Scully heard rain begin to clatter on the iron roof.

"Come on," John said, glancing again at Monica's bare skin. "Let's get you dressed."

Monica nodded and began to turn, but yet again she looked back.

"You know your shirt's unbuttoned," she said to Scully, nodding down at Scully's front.

Scully had completely forgotten, and glanced down to see that, sure enough, the sides of her pyjama top had fallen open again, fully exposing her bra.

"Yeah, I uh ..."

She found herself automatically indicating behind her, but then words failed her as she remembered the exact reason as to why it was undone. She felt Mulder touch her back and a blush creep up on her cheeks.

But Monica smiled, and Scully saw a twinkle in her eyes.

"I can tell."

And then Scully saw in the eyes of both John and Monica that neither of them minded in the least. If anything, they seemed to look pleased that her and Mulder had rekindled their romance, which had been virtually dead over the past month, due to the huge pressure of the case they had been working, and then being stuck in the plane with no time to themselves.

And then Monica was stepping toward her, and with one very touching smile, she wrapped her arms around Scully in a warm but delicate hug. Scully returned it and closed her eyes for a moment as they simply held each other.

"You don't have to look so embarrassed," Monica said, still smiling as she pulled away. "We're all adults, and there doesn't have to be any secrets between the four of us."

Scully nodded, but in her conservative nature she could not find a reply. Monica was so naturally open about these things, but Scully was one whose brain excelled when in the arena of logic and science, when dealing with patterns and rules, formulae and sensible conclusions. When her brain was dropped unexpectedly into talking about matters of the heart, it stumbled clumsily where Monica's excelled.

They let go of each other, but as Monica turned to finally retreat, and John slipped his arm around her shoulders, Scully saw a glint in her eye that both of the men missed entirely. And in that split second when Monica accepted John's help in walking, an overwhelming suspicion took control of Scully's mind, and she realised suddenly that their conversation had only been half about her relationship with Mulder, that there had been another hidden undertone which Scully had at first completely missed, and of which both John and Mulder still remained completely ignorant.

Smiling to herself, Scully pulled the door closed.

"What's so funny?" Mulder asked, looking puzzled by Scully's smile.

"Nothing," Scully said, making an effort to appear impassive again even though her heart had never felt lighter. "Come on, we'd better call home, find out about her inheritance."

Mulder went obediently towards the phone, looked up their piece of paper with everyone's scribbled phone numbers and called Anne's cell phone. Scully drifted toward the kitchen window. The sun had set now, but the wind was picking up again and the wind chimes were swinging around in the gale sounding an energetic symphony. She still heard the waves crashing, but it was muffled by the wind and the rain beginning to pound on the roof. But she thought that had the weather been still, she would have walked them a lot further than the phone - probably down to the beach where she could do her friends the huge favour of giving them space to finally live out the desires which had been repressed for the last ten years.

XXX

John made sure to keep an arm locked around Monica's waist, because though she had regained her ability to walk, she was still unsteady and he hadn't missed the way she had been hanging onto the door frame for their entire conversation. He walked them to her bag, which was sitting on the floor near the wall, and after making sure she had her balance he momentarily let go of her to bend over and unzip it. Seeing Scully in her pyjamas had made him think it wasn't a bad idea, now it was getting on night-time, and it was these that he searched her bag for, overturning neat piles of clothes and skimpy lingerie, her make-up bag and box of tampons ...

"John."

He felt her gentle hand touch him low on his back - just above the top of his jeans. When he glanced up at her he saw she had tears in her eyes and he immediately stood up again. The hand that had been on his lower back slipped to cup the hip of his jeans.

"I'm sorry," she said clearly, brown eyes looking softly into his own.

"Sorry? What for?"

He took her shoulders firmly in his hands and searched her face. What on Earth could she be sorry for?

"For putting you through this," she said. "How I've behaved."

He distantly felt her second hand rest on his other hip, but it was nothing to how it felt hearing Monica blame herself.

He stepped closer and lifted one of his hands to her hair.

"I want you to listen to me," he said, stroking back lengths of her soft brown hair. "You have _nothing _to be sorry for. Okay? With what's happened to you, you have _every _right to be upset."

She considered the statement, though she did not look persuaded. Eventually she swallowed down the pain he could see looming in the backs of her eyes and he felt her grip on his body tighten, seeking his touch and presence.

"Do you really love me?"

He had been ready for this. He knew well that the absence of her parents caused the burden on himself, Scully and Mulder to double in that it was now entirely up to them to reassure Monica that she had their unending love. The three of them were the only source of love she felt she could rely upon, and when she questioned him he gave his answer with not a second's hesitation.

"Of course," he said, feeling his heart pound with how much he meant it. "More than anything."

He had always been hopeless with romantic declarations of love, and felt no doubt that any other man would have done a better job of it. But as her intense eyes held his own she gave no sign that his statement was inadequate, and when she brought her lips to his the kiss she gave him said anything but.

It started off soft at first, as gentle as a kiss could be, and John was the perfect gentleman as he held her close and showed how much he loved her. But when their mouths opened and their tongues began to dance he again became prisoner to the impeccable finesse of Monica's kissing, and all his other body organs nearly failed with pleasure - his heart thumping erratically and his lungs craving for oxygen that he had no interest in giving them. One of Monica's warm hands had slipped under his t-shirt, and was stroking his bare skin at the same rhythm of her lips and tongue, and he found his own hands grasping handfuls of her grey top, cupping her at her slim waist, and it was with the greatest effort that he finally broke the kiss before they fell any further to places where he knew they shouldn't be going if he was going to remain a gentleman and not take advantage of her when she was so ill.

He indulged in a moment in which they held each other close, their foreheads touching as they both struggled to catch their breath and hot puffs of oxygen grazed each other's cheeks. He could hear in her breathing that she had enjoyed the kiss just as much as he had, but he was determined to treat her properly, and as her eyelids fluttered closed again he dipped his lips to give her a firm, but gentle kiss on one pink cheek, and then he drew her in against him in a full body hug, her head against his shoulder and his arms wrapped around her back.

In the seconds in which she stayed there he continued to rain down soft kisses on her cheek and hair, wanting to reassure her she had his love with his actions rather than with words, which had never been his strength. And when she finally pulled away, he was pleased to see she looked happier, that the look of looming depression in her eyes had evaporated and she appeared content, even smiling slightly.

He rubbed his hands up and down her skinny arms.

"You're freezing," he observed, and chided himself for not insisting warmth should be her first priority. "We've gotta get you dressed."

He forced himself to break physical contact and bent over again to her open bag. He finally located two sets of sleepwear - a set of sensible pyjamas and a sexy blue satin nightie, but as he held both in hands and looked between them he felt one of Monica's hands slip to his ass. He could not help glancing at her and saw a devilish smile and a seductive look in her eye that reminded him of his long ago honeymoon with Barbara.

_Oh, hell._

His breath escaped him.

But no ... he had to do the right thing. He could not do that to her, could not treat with all the disrespect that Follmer had. She was still _gravely _ill ...

He struggled to ignore her hand as he straightened up again. Yet again it fell away to his hip, but the amused, seductive look on Monica's face showed no signs of going _anywhere_.

"These all right?" he asked, holding up the flannel pyjamas. A loose sock fell away, tumbling to the carpet.

It was like being a clumsy teenager all over again. And yet it wasn't as well, because had he been a teenager he would have thrown her naked onto the bed as soon as Scully shut the door. He was a mature man now, and a man whose Monica's sanity depended on.

"No," she said, shaking her head at the pyjamas.

"No?" he repeated, struggling to even get the words out as Monica's smile widened and she moved closer. "You want the nightie?"

"No," she said again.

Her hand grasped his and she forced it open so that the sleepwear all fell to the carpet, landing on top of the sock. Her lips briefly grazed his before she stepped back again. Then, with one swift movement, she pulled her grey cotton top over her head and tossed it aside, and John held his breath as she stood before him in nothing but the sexy black lingerie. And despite how much weight she had lost, despite the fact that he could see her bones it was still the most arousing sight he had ever seen in his life, perfect breasts barely concealed by the strips of black lace, nipples only just out of sight and fully erect. None of his other experiences with naked women even came close. And then there was the treasures down further ...

_Hell, hell, fucking hell ..._

She was no longer smiling now. She stepped back toward him and took his hands in hers before settling them on her warm, soft waist.

"Monica ..."

His resolve was already crumbling under the demands of his body, but the few civilised scraps that were left managed to force out the word.

She put a finger against his lips.

"If you really love me, I need you to prove it."

And then he understood, and with the understanding his resistance fell away completely. She needed to know he loved her, needed to feel it and experience it ... and if that was what she needed, then he saw no reason to hold back. They had waited over ten years, after all. And if not now ...

She kissed him. It was slow, calm, in no hurry ... determined to show him that it was no passing flimsy idea, but a serious declaration of their love, and one that was long overdue.

She calmly pulled away. There was a few seconds in which she said or did nothing, and her touch was so light that he had every opportunity to put a halt to it, if he wished.

But he did not. Instead he allowed his hands to hold her waist with the firm love he had been holding back, and he gazed down into her chocolate eyes.

"Make love to me, John," she said quietly.

And without another word, he did.

XXX

John was asleep. He had been that way ever since he had rolled off her, sweating from every pore in his body, totally exhausted but looking like he was in heaven. Monica guessed that had been about half an hour ago now, and though she had felt a little drained at first, the fact that she had been sleeping all day long had meant the feeling had quickly passed, and now the roles were reversed, and it was she who was lying wide awake with _John _asleep, entwined naked with her under the covers - cosy and warm, but still sticky with sweat and the air filled with the arousing aroma of sex.

Seducing John had been unplanned, but she was glad she had, as it had been the most incredible sex of her life. It was not incredible by all of her old measures of great sex. John was not the biggest man she had ever been with, in fact he was only average-sized. And the act had not been like any of her other first times with a man, most of which had been carefully planned romantic nights of which the sex had occurred in a bedroom late at night after a date at a romantic restaurant. This sex had happened in a strange bedroom - one that had only occurred to her now must be the former bedroom of Mulder's parents - and it had also happened in broad daylight with the curtains wide open and sunlight streaming in throughout the whole thing. Furthermore, it had happened with an audience. She was sure that Mulder and Scully must have heard most of their enthusiastic noise, but the thought did not bother her. The four of them were all one now, and their relationships were open. And further to that was the fact that Monica did not usually like to make love in the missionary position. But with John, it had been natural, and she had welcomed the feeling of being smothered by him and relinquishing control as she never had with any other man. She wanted to be crushed by his love, to feel him holding her, to feel him all over her so she was totally enveloped with his love and passion.

It was incredible not for physical reasons, but for spiritual ones. As she lay there reflecting on it, she realised it was probably the first time she had really and truly made love. She had had sex hundreds of times, but never before had she felt this level of happiness, of absolute true love that she felt could carry her for the rest of her life. And then there was John, who was just the _amazing _lover. Again, he was nothing like any other man she had ever been with, those who had been in such a hurry to tear off her clothes, throw her down and fuck her senseless. They had been the ones who had wanted favours of her, loved doing her in positions which were purely animal, and had degraded her in so many ways for their own sexual release. John was a gentleman. He was so gentle, so considerate. When they were first standing near the bed, kissing, and Monica had finally rid him of his shirt and finished admiring his bare chest, she had moved to his jeans, unbuckling his belt as his hands had unclipped her bra. And when she had tugged down his jeans and briefs and finally revealed him, she had kissed her way down to him and taken him in her mouth only to feel him grip her upper arm and tug her up again a second later. And he had looked her in the eye and said, "I'm not going without you, you're coming with me" and she had been so touched that for a moment she had been unable to move, because she had realised how much he loved her, and that for their first time, it was going to be an entirely mutual union, strong with real love. And it had brought tears to her eyes as he stood before her, totally naked, and he took her in his arms again, kissing her slowly, keeping it passionate yet eternal. And he had helped her off with her bra and underwear and she had at long last felt his strong, confident hands settle on her most private places, and remain there until they eventually coaxed each other into the most incredible orgasms of their lives.

"How are you feeling?"

She had not realised he had woken up, and she lifted her head from his chest to see his blue eyes smiling down at her.

Monica could not help grinning back. The feeling of being in true love was incredible and she wasted no time in lowering her mouth to his. His arms encircled her once again, rolling her on top of him, one hand roaming her back, the other hovering at the base of her right buttock, rejoicing in the freedom of touching her wherever he liked.

At last they were lovers. Monica's heart would barely settle from excitement. She could hardly breathe.

When he pulled away to draw breath, his hands now stroking up and down her sides, he said, looking reluctant, "We should be sociable. You know how fragile Dana still is."

"Yeah," Monica agreed softly. She did not remember much of the last twenty-four hours, but she knew how delicate a condition Scully was in - whether she realised it or not. And even with all her own worries she still felt a pang of fear for Scully, whom none of them could survive without.

"And you need to eat," John pointed out, one hand on her protruding ribs.

"It can wait another few minutes," Monica reasoned, in her most persuasive voice.

She kissed him softly. He needed no persuading.

"I need your help with something first."

XXX

"Maybe we should get onto the Guiness Book of Records, apply for the longest change of clothes in history."

Mulder was leaning back against the kitchen bench, half-heartedly drying their dishes and whole-heartedly smiling with amusement. He had long caught on as to what their two friends were doing - firstly because of Scully's initial smiling, secondly because of how long they had been gone, and thirdly because the noises they could hear coming from the bedroom left no room for doubt. It had been mostly silent, but there had been moments when they lost their careful self-control. That had been just over an hour ago now, and the only sound since then had been soft talking, and now it was completely silent.

"I think they've fallen asleep," Scully said, grabbing their two plates and putting them away in the cupboard.

"It's probably something we should think about sometime," Mulder said, finishing drying their dishes and helping her put them away.

What Scully found most curious about the situation was Mulder's reaction, for she knew Mulder better than anyone else alive, and had spent ten years in the presence of his offbeat humour and sexual innuendo. But now, though he had smiled and cracked the odd joke, it was not the full-force onslaught that she had expected of him and he remained quite serious and professionally concerned. And she thought she knew why: because if anything, Monica's behaviour did not represent a healing, but was certain evidence of how unstable she was. The fact that her first move upon her mental return was to seduce John spoke primarily of her desperate need to feel loved. Knowing this, Scully was still fully supportive of what they were doing, but like Mulder, she felt concern eating away at her and though she knew she had no reason to think John and Monica would emerge again, she hoped strongly that they would.

It was only two bowls and a pile of cutlery later that this wish came unexpectedly true. The rain on the roof had eased from a pounding to a soft pitter patter, but it still muffled the noise coming from the bedroom, and Scully and Mulder had not heard Monica and John get out of bed. But as the two of them came to the end of their dishes, they heard the door open and they both came out - both in their sleepwear and with identical wide smiles.

"Hey," Scully said, unable to stifle her own smile at the sight of them. They were all over each other and even if she hadn't been present for the last hour she would have had no doubts about what had occurred.

"I'll be back in a minute," John said to Monica, and with a deliriously happy smile that lit up his blue eyes, he leaned in to give her a farewell kiss.

Scully exchanged a look with Mulder. It was a struggle to rein her smile, for the kiss the two were sharing was the type she would have expected if John was parting to hike the Himalayas, not to venture to the bathroom. It was open-mouthed, but delicate and slow, and it was clear that Monica was soaking it all in and returning it with twice the passion. John wore a white t-shirt and loose pyjama bottoms, and Monica's hands hovered at the waistband as though she was going to tug them down again. John, on the other hand, had one hand at the base of Monica's back and his other embedded in her hair and just as Scully was wondering whether they should leave the room she saw John reluctantly break away.

"Go get something to eat," he instructed her, trailing his fingertips down her face.

Monica was beaming under his radiance and she stood there, watching him as he disappeared. Then Scully heard the bathroom door close and Monica turned her attention to them.

"You're looking a lot better," Mulder said, walking over to her.

"I feel better," Monica replied, still grinning from ear to ear. Floating on affection, she wrapped her arms around Mulder's shoulders, hugging him. Mulder kissed her on the cheek as they parted and then helped her walk the remaining distance to the kitchen. Scully saw she was still unsteady on her feet, enormously weak, and this was confirmed a second later when Monica hugged her and Scully had to be careful to hold Monica steady.

Scully could not resist feeling Monica's forehead and taking her pulse, and was pleased to find her temperature seemed only slightly lowered and her pulse stronger.

"I'm okay," Monica said, smiling at Scully as she completed the examination.

"I'd like to take your blood pressure sometime tonight," Scully said. "We need to keep an eye on it."

"I feel fine," Monica repeated.

"You don't feel dizzy at all?"

"Only a little," Monica said honestly. "It'll probably pass once I have something to eat."

"What would you like?" John asked, coming back into the room and slipping his arms around her skinny waist again.

Monica's grin widened and Scully could practically complete the sentence for her. John gave a lopsided smile of his own and immediately obeyed, kissing Monica firmly. Monica was leaning against the bench and she pulled him flush against her until she was trapped there and could not move.

They showed no signs of parting, and as much as Scully's heart wanted to leave them to all the happiness they wanted to partake in, as a doctor she was conscious of how long it had been since Monica ate, how light she was already, and how much energy it would have cost her in making love to John.

"Make sure she eats, John," Scully said lowly, in a warning tone as she left the kitchen with Mulder.

John came to his senses, broke the kiss and gave Scully a sorry look. One of Monica's hands was unashamedly cupping his butt.

"She's right," he told Monica. "You've gotta eat. What do you want - fruit, soup..?"

"Soup, I think."

A few minutes later Monica and John both had bowls of Mrs Scully's steaming vegetable soup - one she had generously made for them all before they left Washington with the intention that it could be easily heated up and was a liquid food that they would all find easy to eat on their extremely sensitive post-cannibalism stomachs. John had added a buttered bread roll to the equation and was happily devouring it while he took a brief break from devouring Monica - who remained snuggled on his lap in a cosy armchair by the flickering open fire with their soup bowls balanced precariously on their knees. John was eating one-handed, alternating between the buttered roll and the soup, as his other arm was locked around Monica's waist, and his hand had slipped under the hem of her pyjama top. Scully saw the material moving as he stroked the bare skin of Monica's lower back.

Opposite them on the couch, Scully was nestled in beside Mulder with his heavy arm around her shoulders. She had her bare feet resting on the coffee table and the warmth from the fire was starting to remind her how tired she was. She had been up since three that morning, and her eyelids were feeling very heavy now.

"You sure you two don't wanna get some sleep?"

Scully dreamily opened her eyes just as they were falling shut of their own accord and saw John staring at her with concern. Beside her she felt Mulder stretch a little as he fought off his own fatigue.

"No, I'm okay," Scully said quickly.

It was a lie, but it was in a good cause. She did not have to discuss her position with Mulder - they were so close these days that open discussion was often bypassed entirely as they knew what each other were thinking just at a glance. And right now, Scully knew that Mulder agreed with her in recognising the delicate situation they were in. For while John was so elated he was oblivious to it, Scully knew the psychology that lay beneath Monica's clinginess, and knew that she was just as unsteady as she had been for the last twenty-four hours. And now that she was sitting with them and talking again, Scully was keen to seize the opportunity to help her with some subtle therapy.

"Actually we were wondering if we could interest you in a game, if you're up for it," Mulder said casually, throwing Monica his most charming look of concern.

"It hasn't been often this week that we've had any time together," Scully added, playing along and adding her own pleading look into the mix.

Monica's eyes softened immediately as they met Scully's.

"Of course," she said, voice dripping with understanding.

Scully tilted her head forward for a second as Mulder withdrew his arm and made his way over to the box of board games.

"What would you like?" he asked. "We've got Scrabble, a battered edition of Monopoly, cards ..."

"Anything but chess," Monica replied with a smile.

"You don't like chess?" John asked.

"I don't mind it. I just don't like my chances of beating Dana."

She threw Scully a wide smile.

"I'll second that," John said, throwing Scully a hard look of respect that made her ego awaken from its slumber.

"Go Scrabble," John said.

"Scrabble it is," Mulder said, returning with the box. Scully removed her feet from the coffee table and sat up to help clear some of the other rubble that had accumulated there.

"Okay," Mulder said a minute later, after John and Monica had taken their empty dishes to the kitchen and returned back to the chair - John pulling Monica back down into his lap and Monica giving her wide smile of pleasure as his arms pulled her against him. The board was spread on the coffee table and they each had a tray ready for their letters.

"_Rules_," he continued firmly, shaking the bag of letters to shuffle them. "English only. No Spanish, Latin, French -" he turned his attention from Monica to Scully "- Greek or German welcome during play."

"You just massacred my vocab," Monica said, with a glowing smile.

"And two-thirds of mine," Scully added playfully.

"And no bullshit, either," John put in.

"Define 'bullshit'," Mulder said lightly, offering the bag to Scully for her to pick out her letters.

"Anything you might put in an X-File," John answered, giving Mulder a look.

"That's ideology," Mulder argued with a smile. "We've not talking about meaning implied by groups of words, only translation of those in single form."

"Then you've already failed at the hands of the very rules you just laid out," Monica said, responding with a playful smile, behind which Scully could plainly see Monica's extraordinary intellectual power awakening for the first time since their crash. "You can't rule that we play by English only and exclude other languages, as English is largely a composition of other languages. You could consider that many of our words are based on Latin, for example. And therefore no such divide can ever exist, for there are no clear-cut boundaries of language, as language stems from culture and history and both are interwoven networks across the whole of humanity."

"You're splittin' hairs," John complained.

Scully had to suppress a smile, knowing John was not an academic and had never enjoyed the long-winded intellectual debates that Monica and Mulder were both so fond of. And while Scully followed them out of interest, John had no interest in even trying.

But as she glanced at Mulder beside her she saw a twinkle in his eye and a smile playing on his lips that was extremely ominous, and she braced herself for a game of Scrabble as she had never known it. She was not overly fond of the game, as she preferred strategy games such as chess, but she had played it a little with her family when she was a child. And those long afternoons when they played Scrabble had always involved long, serious silences as everyone pondered the board, broken only by the sounds of someone, often her father, flicking through the dictionary. But now, here she was with Mulder looking characteristically playful, and Monica straightening herself up in John's lap and leaning forward, shuffling her letters back and forth on her tray with a smile of her own on her lips. And Scully took a deep breath of her own, for despite their ordeal, the trauma had done nothing to kill off her own intellectual competitiveness, and while she would not mind seeing Monica win, hell would freeze over before she willingly lost to Mulder.

XXX

"'Nis', Mulder?"

It was two mentally exhausting hours later when the board was cluttered and space was running out. Scully stared at the three letter word near the edge of the board that Mulder had put down to clear the last of his letters. The game had certainly proved to stretch her vocabulary, as she had expected. The language centre of Mulder's brain was far-reaching, and had dug up whole series of words that had been dead for centuries. Monica was equally as bad. Scully had made an effort to keep her own words in the field of those that were well-known, but when a few unlucky letters fell into her tray and the board became crowded she drew more and more upon her own deep education, unearthing words from her studies years ago that had baffled her three friends. But now, the word Mulder had just laid down of "Nis" was the most baffling yet.

Scully thought it was a lucky thing that John apparently just had the most amazing sex of his life, because the grin on his face and deliriously cheerful mood had helped him ride out a game that they would have completely lost him in at any other time.

Nevertheless, he eyed the word with complete confusion.

"What the fucking hell's a nis?" he asked, raising his eyes to Mulder.

"It's a fairy," Monica replied, before Mulder could get a word out.

John stared at her. Monica's eyes twinkled.

"It's chiefly Scandinavian," she explained, "said to be about the size of a dwarf. It inhabits farm houses. Loves money, hates noise. Legend has it that if you welcome them into your dwelling they help with the chores."

John looked lost for words, and Monica's grin widened and she laughed softly. But Scully, glancing at Mulder, saw a look of awe on his face, like he was wondering where she had been for the past ten thousand X-Files before the disaster had forced John to SOS her from New Orleans.

"Mulder, if we're to share a bed tonight, you can feel free to lose that look right now."

She tried to hide her smile and remain serious as she said it, but when he looked at her, she cracked - laughing with Monica. Then Mulder's large hand landed back on her thigh, squeezing through the material of her pyjama pants, and his lips swooped in to kiss her on the lips.

It was not a short one, far from the reassuring peck she had expected. Instead it was firm, but still gentle, and she felt in the pit of her stomach that it was a promise of what was going to come later. Her suspicions of that afternoon were confirmed, but when he finally pulled away and one of his hands crept under the back of her pyjama top resting flatly over her spine and just above her underwear, a queer, unsettled feeling stirred within her and the happiness that she had felt momentarily faltered.

Unseen by both the men, she saw Monica's eyes narrow with concern.

But she was hugely relieved when Monica did not get the chance to question her, as John was energetically disputing the word "nis".

"You want to challenge it?" Mulder asked.

"Damn right I do," John answered.

"I think I've got a book somewhere ..."

"What's it appear in? Grimm's fairy tales?" John countered, raising an eyebrow.

"It won't be in the dictionary," Monica said, returning her attention to them. "It _is _a word, but you won't find it in everyday usage."

"Then I'll call the umpire," John said.

He gently slipped Monica from his lap and went for the phone in the kitchen. He disappeared for a minute, but when he came back to them, cordless phone against his ear, Scully could hear Christi on the other end of the line.

She sounded like she thought he'd lost his mind, and Scully could not blame her, as John spoke cheerfully into the phone and brushed off all her worried questions over everyone's wellbeing.

"We're fine, we just need you to look up a word for us," John said, sinking back into the couch and pulling Monica back into his lap.

"A word?" Scully heard Christi ask. "Are you serious?"

"Deadly," John replied lightly, looking like he was enjoying himself immensely. "There's a lot at stake."

"What on Earth are you doing?"

"Scrabble," he answered. "Mulder's become delusional. The word's "Nis" - he reckons it's some of damned dwarf with wings that the Norwegians enslaved to do their housework."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

"You there?"

"John, can you put Dana on?"

"She wants to talk to you," John said, holding the phone out for Scully.

Scully could barely keep a straight face as she took the phone.

"Hi Christi."

"Dana, what's he high on?" came Christi's puzzled voice. "Sex, drugs, or alcohol?"

Scully could hear other people in the room laughing in the background. She recognised Charlie amongst them.

Scully eyed John and Monica entwined on the same chair and knew they were hearing every word.

"I don't think I'm at liberty to say," Scully answered, struggling to hold in her laughter.

"As I thought," Christi replied softly, so only she could hear this time. Scully could hear in her tone that she knew exactly what had happened. "Thanks, Dana. Can you put him back on?"

Scully held the phone out for John. Moments later she heard Christi's voice come through clear again.

"I hate to tell you John, but they're right. It's a Norwegian fairy."

"Great," he replied. "Thanks."

"If it's any consolation, it's the ugliest creature I think I've ever seen. There's a picture of it here on the website."

"That's no comfort," John said. "We're not being scored on a beauty contest."

"So who's winning then?"

"Monica," John replied, with a quick glance at the score sheet. "By a mile or two."

There was a short pause. When Christi spoke again her voice was quieter and harder for Scully to overhear.

"John ... you _are _taking good care of her ..."

"The best," he replied, giving Monica a squeeze. "Don't worry."

"And Dana?"

Scully felt the eyes of all her friends land on her.

"She's fine," he replied. "Tell her family not to worry."

It was a simple reassurance, and Scully was glad that John gave it, considering how much she suspected she had worried her mom with her call earlier that morning. But as she heard John reassure his sister and the joyful conversation continued, Scully wondered why it felt like a blatant lie. For despite escaping Washington, despite Monica's return and their extremely enjoyable few hours together, she could not escape the feeling of unease. But as she tried to put her mind onto the task of analysing what was so bizarrely wrong, she did not get anywhere, and the only progress that was made seemed to be by Monica, who was once again looking at her with concern, and it was a look that made Scully nervous. It was almost as if Monica was seeing something obvious that Scully was missing.

But she tore her mind away from the subject, and gave her female friend a reassuring smile.

Monica had enough on her mind already.

XXX

"How's your ego feel?"

In the privacy of their bedroom, lit up by only the glow of a dusty lamp, Scully smiled at Mulder as she zipped her bag closed again on the opposite bed to which he was now sitting in his boxer shorts. Monica had won the scrabble - and at a margin no less than 260 points.

"I let her win," he said casually, glancing at the door. On the other side of the door, just across the hall, was the pool table room. Monica and John had disappeared in there for a game, as Mulder and Scully had elected to finally get some sleep. She knew very well what their two friends would end up doing, but it did not bother her. It was such a relief to have Monica back with them, and for both of them to be so cheerful.

"You're lying, Mulder," Scully said, crossing to join him.

He stretched out his hand for her as she approached across the worn carpet, and when she reached him he linked their palms together and urged her face-on into his lap, so she was sitting with one thigh either side of his hips.

"She's fluent in four languages," he argued softly, as he pressed a light kiss to her cheek. "It was a safe bet she'd thrash us. Linguistics is one of her outstanding strengths."

"Then you planned it that way," Scully concluded. "That's why you chose Scrabble."

"I didn't think it would do any harm."

Scully nodded. It had certainly done no harm. She paused the conversation as she let her hands rest on his bare waist, and as Mulder's did the same on her, squeezing and massaging, always roaming and never still - on her waist, around her back, up and down, soothing, so comfortable and easy just as it had been during the afternoon. She leaned her forehead against his and closed her eyes.

"Well I think she'll be okay now," Scully said softly. "At least for a few hours."

"They'll be fine," he agreed. "Time alone is what they need."

He sealed the conversation with a kiss on her lips. It was so slow and calm that it relaxed Scully, and some of the tension she felt was washed away as his lips brushed hers. When he broke away again she allowed herself to rest her head against his shoulder - just for a moment - to close her eyes and try to settle further the waves of tension inside her.

She felt Mulder kiss her hair, and his hands on her back roamed a little slower, easing the pace. She sighed against him and it was then that she realised his hands had stopped moving entirely, and he was still in her arms.

She pulled away and looked up to see a crestfallen look in his eyes.

"You're tired," he said, recovering a little and tucking her hair back behind her ear. "You need some sleep."

He gently shifted her from his lap before she even had time to argue. He settled her halfway down the bed and then stood up to pull the covers back for her. But all the while he avoided her searching eyes, not wanting to her to see the heavy disappointment that he was having trouble hiding.

She caught his wrist. "Mulder -"

"You need some rest," he interrupted gently, swiftly covering his emotions. "We both do. We've been up nearly twenty-four hours."

"I'm not tired," she said firmly, refusing to climb into the single bed even though his hand on her shoulder was urging her to do so.

"Then you should be," he answered. He glanced behind at her bag. "Did you bring your medication? Those pills they gave you for your insomnia?"

He crossed the room and yanked the zip open so fast that Scully was left in doubt as to what was going on. He inconsiderately shuffled through her piles of clothes, overturning everything into one large jumble, until he found the paper bag of medication.

"Mulder -"

Impatient with unrolling the crumpled knot at the top, he tore open the bag so the small bottle and two boxes of medication fell out into his hands. His eyes shot back and forth between them, struggling to read the labels in the low light.

"You should swallow some," he continued.

He tossed the two boxes back in the general direction of her bag - where they missed and skidded across the mattress to the wall - and then hastily unscrewed the top of her sleeping pills.

"Mulder, will you _stop_?"

Her loud, hard tone hit him as if she'd slapped him across the face, and in the centre of the void between the beds he froze. His chest heaved up and down. His wild eyes avoided hers.

"I know what this is about," she said softly.

It was all she needed to say, but it was a few long, painful seconds before he finally calmed enough to meet her eyes. And when he did, the sight broke Scully's heart. For it was not a wild animal that was looking back at her, but the soft eyes of a pitiful, broken man.

"Oh, Mulder ..."

She could barely get the words out as she held out her hands to him, and even as his eyes were tearing up he managed to almost stumble the few steps to meet her. She pulled him to her, and he fell to his knees and put his head and arms in her lap. She leaned over and wrapped her arms around his bare, cold back, entangled one hand in his brown hair as he struggled not to cry into her thighs.

"It's okay," she said softly, rubbing one hand up and down the skin of his back. "It's all okay."

There was a hesitant tap at the door and Scully heard Monica's voice.

"Is everything all right?"

"We're fine, Monica," Scully answered.

There was a short pause, and then Scully heard her retreat back into the other room with John. The door clicked closed.

It was not entirely a lie, for Mulder was calming in her arms, his shaking was subsiding and she did know exactly what was wrong. She saw clearly now, as it hadn't occurred to her at all in the last few weeks, how much Mulder was missing their physical intimacy. She had suspected most of the day that he would try to sleep with her tonight, but had underestimated how fragile a subject this was for him. Because unlike her, he had no family support to lean on, and she felt a tidal wave of guilt for how she had forced Reg and Clare away that morning. Mulder needed her, she was all he had, and he had held back long enough due to her illness, and their emotional turmoil that had up until now had them sharing sleeping space with John and Monica. But the emergence of their friends' sexual relationship had broken the need for that now, and Mulder had obviously been hoping to reignite things again. For despite everything, he was still a man, and she had not realised he was craving this from her, the stabilising force, the emotional release ...

Well it was out in the open now, Scully thought. And she could fix it, make it up to him ...

When he eventually lifted his head and sat back, she took both of his hands firmly in hers and kissed his knuckles briefly before settling them in her lap.

"It's okay, all right?" she asked, searching his eyes.

He nodded. He looked ashamed of himself, but his hands tightened around hers.

She leaned forward and kissed him, and he seemed to welcome it, accepting it calmly. But when she freed one of her hands and felt the coldness of his shoulder she pulled away.

"Your body temperature's falling," she said worriedly, and she stood up, pulling him with her. "You should get into bed."

The room _was _cold. The open fire had warmed up most of the house, but the door to this bedroom had remained closed all day, and it had stayed freezing cold inside.

Mulder climbed into bed and Scully followed him, sinking immediately into the ancient, soft mattress that them both rolling towards the centre of the bed. She reached down and pulled the thin covers back over themselves, and then wriggled closer to Mulder. She had never slept with another person in a single bed before, but with Mulder it was cosy, and the closeness of his bare chest warmed her quickly as his arms snaked around her and pulled her close.

But Scully had no intention of settling in for a sleep. She was still feeling a knot of guilt in her stomach and so instead of letting Mulder pull her down beside him, she instead leaned over him, hand seductively roaming his chest, and lowered her mouth firmly on his.

She had never before kissed him like this so early in their love-making. Over the past few years of their relationship, and especially since Mulder had moved into her apartment, sex had settled into a definite routine. It was initiated by Mulder, usually in one of a few set circumstances - night-time in their bedroom, early morning in the bathroom, in the evening on the couch - and it always started slowly, involving searching kisses that never seemed to end, his mouth and hands ever so slowly coaxing her into a state of arousal until she eventually forgot whatever important matter had been on her mind at the time. And it was at this point, when her arousal began to consume her, that things turned passionate, and she would begin to kiss him harder, faster, and beg his hands to be a little more demanding and cease their calm stroking.

Now, however, she was determined that Mulder would get what he needed, and that he would enjoy it. And so she broke the routine and kissed him passionately, open-mouthed, plunging her tongue into his mouth and rolling on top him to straddle him.

She did not count on him breaking away.

Out of breath, his hands cupping her waist, he asked, "Are you sure you're not tired?"

For a split second Scully wondered about the possibility of raising her hand from his nipple and throttling him with it instead.

"I'm only tired of hearing people ask," Scully said, and quickly kissed him again to stifle any argument that might be lurking in the back of his mouth.

It was a prelude to sex as Scully had never had it before. This time she was in control, and she cared nothing for her own satisfaction and instead her mind whirred away with plans to make Mulder enjoy himself. And she quickly succeeded. Barely any time had gone by before his head had sunk back into the pillow, delirious with arousal. She had long since rid of him of his boxer shorts, and shifted back to sit on his thighs as she massaged him where it counted. His eyes were closed, his breathing erratic, and Scully sat there and felt pleased by the effect she was having. He was completely under her spell. His hands had previously been helping themselves to her naked breasts, or else slipping under the elastic of her underwear to squeeze her buttocks, but now they were idle at his sides, as all his attention descended to the actions of Scully's hands.

"God," he said, a little loudly. "_Scully _..."

But Scully only smiled, unable to help wondering whether John and Monica had heard. They probably had, she reasoned, but that was okay ...

And then one of his hands sprung to life again and he tugged at the elastic of her underwear.

"Take them off," he ordered.

There was no smooth way to do it, and she had to climb up off the bed to succeed. In that brief time, Mulder had regained some of his senses, and she turned back to find he had wriggled over a little to allow her room beside him, and when his warm, sweaty hand took hers he pulled her down to lie next to him, and before she knew it, the roles were reversed, and it was Mulder who was on top of her, parting her legs, playing with her breasts and his mouth hard on hers, relentlessly passionate ... Scully reached down and squeezed his muscly ass, pulling him closer as she raised her knees and matched his passion ...

"_God_, Scully ..."

"Mulder ..."

But Mulder's mouth was already claiming hers again and she was silenced even as she felt his organs down below nudging hers.

And before she knew it, he was starting to enter her, and with him came the sharpest jolt of pain that Scully had felt since losing her virginity. She gasped, cried out, and her hands pushed Mulder off her and back, back, back, until he had exited and rolled away.

"Scully ..?"

She caught a glimpse of a pair of terrified, worried eyes trying to catch hers, but she ignored them, and continued to push him back.

"_Stop_, I ..."

The world blurred, and she felt an insurmountable terror take hold of her. She'd been just about dry ... there was no moisture ... no, no, no ...

Fingers gently settled on the side of her face. There was an apologetic voice, with an edge of fear.

"Scully, it's okay ... I'm _sorry _..."

But it was not okay. Not okay ... _never _okay ...

She blindly fought off the hand, and roughly pushed back the creature beside her, stumbling to her feet.

"Scully!"

But she ran, fled from the yells as her lungs became smaller and smaller and the cold air would no longer arrive. She bolted into the bathroom and slammed the door shut before twisting the ancient lock. Then she collapsed naked in a heap beside the pink bath, cheek against the freezing tiles, the world a terrifying blur as the door above her began to thud with the sound of someone pounding.

* * *

_My family is big on board games - we're all natural strategists - and the nis comes from one of the most hilarious games of Scrabble I've ever participated in. My marvellous dad is a crossword king, and his vocabularly is absolutely astounding. He pulled the "nis" out of the bag during one game and I think we were all falling off our chairs laughing, it was so funny and out of the blue. Thought it might fight nicely with Mulder's character. _


	24. Chapter 24

**_Chapter 52 - We Need to Face This_**

Monica had been wedged tight between John's arousal and the pool table when she heard the commotion. Then, a door slam and a hastily buttoned pyjama shirt later, she hurried to the door with John and threw it open to find Mulder, butt naked, pounding on the locked bathroom door.

"Scully!" Mulder yelled, hammering with his hand on the panels while twisting the handle frantically with his other. "Open the door, Scully!"

"What's happened?" Monica asked quickly, joining him and quickly averting her eyes from his overly obvious arousal.

But Mulder was focused only on Scully and the closed door.

"It doesn't matter, okay?" he said loudly. "Scully, don't react like this."

"Is she havin' a panic attack?" John asked, looking alarmed.

Monica felt panic grip every inch of her body at his words, remembering with piercing agony how they had so nearly lost Scully after her last panic attack at the hospital chapel. In a flash she snatched Mulder's wrist mid-air, holding him still so that she could listen to any sound coming from the bathroom. And sure enough, as the three of them held their breath she heard Scully hyperventilating with emotion.

"_Oh God_," Monica breathed, feeling her own lungs suddenly shrink with fear of her own.

"Do you have a key?" John demanded, looking quickly to Mulder.

Mulder shook his head. He looked petrified. "No ..."

John bent to examine the door handle, sliding a finger over the keyhole.

"We'll pick it," he said quickly, and before Monica could say anything he was bolting to their bedroom.

"Dana, it's Monica," Monica said clearly. "I need you to calm down, Dana. We can hear you hyperventilating and we don't want you to get in any trouble."

But in response she only heard more of the erratic, shallow breathing.

Mulder rapped hard on the door. "Scully, are you listening?"

Monica quickly grabbed his arm to silence him. She knew that being demanding was the worst thing possible. They could not coax her out through shouting at her. She went on in an extra calm tone.

"Dana, I know how you're feeling, but I need you to be a doctor, just for a minute. You're hyperventilating and we need you to calm down right now. Just _slow _your breathing, Dana. That's all you have to do."

She heard Scully whimper.

"Just relax, Dana. It's all going to be okay."

John returned, already pulling out two points of metal and stooping to slide them into the lock.

"How'd it happen?" he threw at Mulder.

Mulder just shook his head, looking too in shock and unstable to formulate an answer. But Monica did not even need to ask the question, for Mulder's nakedness, combined with the noises she had heard both Mulder and Scully making only seconds before, only pointed to one possibility.

"She wasn't ready, was she?" Monica asked.

Her words seemed to injure Mulder, and he shifted his feet and held his breath for a minute as though he was going to choke. When he spoke, it was so soft that Monica nearly missed it.

"She was dry."

"Got it," John said suddenly.

The door opened with a click and John stood back to let Monica go in first. Monica pushed the door open and the sight that met her eyes broke her heart.

Scully was lying on the floor beside the pink bath, completely naked, her back toward them. She closed her eyes at the sound of them and Monica saw her cringe, drawing her knees up further into her chest. But her shallow, fast breathing was still in full flight, and Monica had no time to indulge in being shocked. She quickly crossed the floor and knelt down on the cold tiles. She leaned over her friend, putting one hand straight to her diaphragm to check her breathing and stroking down her friend's red hair with her other.

What she felt beneath her hand terrified her. Scully's breathing was so rapid that she was heading for respiratory failure any second.

"Dana, _calm down_," Monica ordered. "You're going to kill yourself."

But Scully kept on breathing rapidly, and amongst it she seemed still extremely wary of them all - so rigidly tense, and eyes squeezed shut. Monica saw in a flash that her panic attack still held her, and that the presence of the two men was making her worse.

"I'll get a doctor," John said quickly, and hurried out again.

Monica looked up to where Mulder was standing, naked and petrified, eyes wet with fear.

"I need a minute with her," Monica said.

Mulder nodded and headed for the door. He shut it behind him. Monica knew John would take care of him, get him dressed in something to prevent him from going into shock.

"Now, Dana, _look _at me," Monica said firmly. "We're alone now, and I need you to open your eyes."

She was relieved when Scully did, and Monica was met with a pair of extremely upset blue eyes. But as much as the sight scared her, it was also a relief to know that Scully was capable of responding, and that the tenseness in her body had slackened upon Mulder's departure.

Monica grabbed one of Scully's hands, and held with her own against the base of Scully's ribs.

"You can feel how fast you're breathing. I need you to slow down, or else you're heading for respiratory failure."

Scully whimpered in between her gasps for breath, but Monica could see she was trying.

"Slow down," Monica repeated gently, stroking down Scully's hair again.

Hit with a sudden idea, Monica moved Scully's hand to her own diaphragm, and it held it there firmly so Scully could feel her breathing.

"Breathe with me, Dana," Monica instructed. "Nice and slow."

She could see Scully trying. The logical doctor in her was wrestling hard with her post-trauma emotions, each fighting for control. But gradually Scully's medical sense came through, and the clutches of the panic began to weaken as Scully focused all the resources she had on following Monica's breathing.

"That's it," Monica said. "That's really good."

Monica continued to stroke Scully's hair as her friend tried her hardest to steady her breathing. And eventually, after another minute of encouragement, it had returned to normal and she saw Scully begin to calm down and the terror go from her eyes.

"Shhh," Monica breathed. "It's okay ..."

She saw Scully swallow, and with her friend's breathing under control again, Monica was now able to turn her attention to other matters of her condition. First up was her pulse, and Monica adjusted her grip on Scully's hand in order to press a few fingers into her wrist. Her pulse was rapid and weak, but it was at least slowing as Scully continued her efforts to calm herself, and all in all it was not alarming. Next up was her temperature, and Monica put a hand to her forehead to find that her skin was cool. When Monica combined that with the freezing cold air temperature of the bathroom, the icy tiles Scully was lying on, and Scully's bare state, she did not like it at all.

There was a knock at the door, accompanied by John's voice.

"Monica, you there?"

"She's okay," Monica reassured him quickly. "We just need a few minutes."

"We've got a doctor comin'," John said. "It's a woman Dr Cheung recommended. She said she's gonna be here in just over ten minutes."

"Thank you," Monica replied.

They could not afford to say more in front of Scully, but Monica was glad that a doctor was coming. After Scully's previous experience following a panic attack, Monica was still anxious to get her checked out and hear confirmation that she was fine. She was also extremely grateful that John had had the sensitivity to locate a female, given the nature of what had caused the attack.

She had, however, not counted on Scully's stubborn nature.

"I don't need a doctor," Scully said, still lying sideways with her eyes half closed. "I'm okay."

"I'd like to make sure," Monica said. "After what happened to you in the hospital, I'd really prefer to get you checked out."

"No, I -"

Monica was forced to let go as Scully forced herself to sit up, pushing herself up on the tiles. Monica reached out to steady her and again found Scully's cold skin beneath her hands.

"I'm okay," Scully continued. She leaned back against the pale pink bath wall, arched her knees to help cover her nakedness, and put an arm across her breasts.

Monica glanced around, but the towel rail was bare. None of them had indulged in a shower yet, and the towels were in their cases.

"John, are you there?"

"Yeah," came John's prompt reply.

"Can you get her something to wear?"

She heard him retreat down the corridor. She looked back in time to see that the look of stubbornness on Scully's face was still there.

"I don't need a doctor," Scully repeated.

"It's not open for debate," Monica said, as firmly yet as gently as she could.

They were interrupted as John knocked softly and opened the door a fraction. Monica looked around and saw him standing there, averting his eyes from Scully and holding out Scully's blue terrycloth robe and a woollen blanket.

"Thank you," Monica said, taking the items. She unfolded the robe for Scully and Scully worked with her to put it on.

John went to turn away, but Monica stopped him.

"Is Mulder okay?"

"He's fine," John said, nodding. "I've got him dressed and sitting in front of the fire."

Monica felt relieved. She hoped that the unsuccessful lovemaking would do as little damage as possible, but she did not doubt Mulder's ability to blame himself, either.

"You know it's gonna be okay, Dana," John said, looking at her with sympathetic eyes. "I think nearly everyone has times when things don't quite go to plan. Don't let it harm you."

Monica saw Scully looked incredibly awkward, and did not meet John's eyes. After a second of standing there, John left again, closing the door behind him.

She really shouldn't be surprised, Monica thought to herself, as she tucked the blanket around Scully's thin legs. Monica knew very well that Scully came from a very conservative Catholic family, and she could not imagine any of the Scully family members talking openly about sex. The Scullys were dignified, intellectual, highly principled human beings, and from her own two years of working with Scully, Monica had picked up on the fact that Scully had very little interest in sex in general. She had gathered that Mulder had been Scully's first long term relationship, and that before that she had probably only had a few one-off sexual encounters - none of which she had found enjoyable enough to go back for more. It was a stark contrast to Monica's own sex life - which had gone from strength to strength ever since her escape to Brown. She had had many lovers, ranging from one night stands to lasting relationships, and ranging in ability, too, from the lousy and sloppy to those who, like Brad, had been so good she hadn't been able to think about anything else. And Monica had always talked very openly about sex with her female friends, and in the bedroom had always been completely self-confident and open to experimentation. She could see very well that Mulder and Scully's relationship was based on intellectual vivacity - and little else.

"Can we talk about what happened?"

Predictably, Scully avoided Monica's eyes, and suddenly found a corner of the floor where there was a pile of dust and dirt to be very interesting. She looked like a bundle of nerves.

"Mulder told us you were dry," Monica pressed gently, keeping a hold of her friend. "Why did you force yourself, if you weren't in the mood?"

This time Scully met her eyes, and Monica saw they were swimming with unshed tears.

"He needed it," she explained quietly. "We haven't done it since -"

She broke off, thinking, and then shook her head and sighed sadly.

"I don't even know when."

Monica said nothing. It was no surprise to her.

"And tonight," Scully went on, "now we were finally alone ... I wanted him to have it. After this past month and everything we've had to endure, I just wanted him to have a few minutes of pleasure."

"And you?" Monica asked.

Scully looked away. "It's never been a problem before."

She looked like she was hating herself, completely ashamed, and Monica tightened her grip on her, shifting a little closer and taking one of Scully's hands in hers while keeping the other on her shoulder. Scully's eyes fell to their linked hands, and simultaneously the first of her tears slid out of the corner of her eye.

"You're pushing yourself too hard," Monica said gently. "_Far _too hard. Dana, you talk about what we've had to endure, but let's remember what that was." She saw Scully squirm and hastily look away, but Monica pressed ahead. "The deaths of _eighteen _people, two of which were suicide and despite what everyone says, probably preventable. Another of whom was a boss you've worked closely with for ten long years, and who survived most of the distance with us only to die so close to the end. And it was _you_, Dana, who had to cut up the bodies of our friends and colleagues in order for us to survive. And don't think I don't know what you're fearing now - that you're never going to be able to see a dead body again, let alone complete an autopsy. And then there's our hike across the mountains - that hundred mile _death _march that none of us ever thought we were going to survive, where we wondered only in what order we'd die. And then to survive only to be dropped into the nightmare we're in now - to be honest, I'm not even sure I'm grateful we _did _survive. This constant pressure of being watched, this fame, and yet also the isolation out of the fact that we're never going to be normal again. Dana, what's arousing about that? How can you expect to enjoy sex with all that weighing on your mind? It's too much for _anyone _..."

"And yet you've had no trouble," Scully added swiftly.

"_I'm _different," Monica answered. "I've lost -"

She quickly broke off, unable to say the word 'parents'. They were not her parents, she told herself quickly, as pure hatred flared inside her. They had never _been _her parents. Her real parents were her birth parents, and her birth parents only - the young couple who had given her up in order to give her the life they couldn't provide.

Scully was squeezing her hand tight and her eyes softened with intense regret at having opened her mouth.

Monica took a deep breath and tried again.

"What I've lost ... the only thing keeping me sane is knowing John loves me. And being with him, feeling him on top of me, loving me all over ... it's the only thing that helps."

Scully was keeping her strong grip on Monica's hand, and Monica, feeling they were veering away from the point, struggled to get back on track.

"Just don't push yourself so hard," she advised. "Wait until you're ready again."

But Scully sighed. "I doubt that'll help Mulder."

"Making him feel like he forced himself upon you isn't helping him, either," Monica said firmly. "And I'm willing to gamble that what he's seeking is _intimacy_, not penetration. He's only after some time alone with you, to feel close, and there are ways to be intimate without taking him inside you."

Scully gave her a doubtful look. "Such as?"

"Such as what you did with him earlier this afternoon. Such as masturbation or oral sex, or even just lying naked and holding each other. That's something simple you can do which will go a long way in helping _both _of you. And if there does come a time when you feel you're ready to try again, there are things we can get to make it easier for you."

Scully narrowed her eyes in disbelief. "Monica, you know how well-known we are. It's going to be impossible enough to simply walk down the street, much less walk into a shop and buy -"

"I have some at home," Monica cut in. "We can stop off at my apartment and pick it up on the way to meet up with your family. No one has to know."

Scully eyed her, and Monica wondered whether she would object, but after a moment, she closed her mouth again and gave a small nod.

A second later there was a knock on the door, and both women dropped the conversation as the doctor John had summoned arrived.

XXX

The doctor was a kind, female psychiatrist in her 40s named Jayne who had promptly escorted Scully off the cold bathroom floor and out onto the soft couch in front of the flickering fire. Monica, Mulder and John had all retreated to the pool table to let them talk alone, and it was there that Monica sat on the window seat, leaning against the cushions, hearing the ocean still crashing on the rocks somewhere out in the night-time darkness.

Seconds later, Mulder sat down beside her, head heavy in his hands, but John was still pacing up and down the side of the pool table, and he absent-mindedly picked up a yellow ball in his hand before setting it down again, then rolled a green one to a corner pocket, and finally readjusted the position of the cue before finally catching Monica's look and stopping to lean against the edge of the table.

"Her family are gonna have to know," he said. "But I'm damned if I know what to tell 'em."

"Just that she had a panic attack," Monica said. "They don't have to know why, only that she did and it's been taken care of."

But John shook his head, looking worried. "It's gonna scare the hell out of her mom, hearing that it happened again."

"It _didn't _happen again," Monica countered. "She didn't stop breathing, it was just a question of her having more emotion built up than what she could carry. We just tell her mom that she's fine now, that we called a doctor in straightaway, and that there's no reason for them to fear for her or to race up here."

"Only she's not fine," Mulder said softly, emerging from the shelter of his hands. "Is she?"

There was a pause in which neither Monica nor John knew what to say.

"We have no reason to think that it won't happen again. It might be a different trigger, a different circumstance, but the end result is going to keep coming back to get her."

"Unless we do something," John said.

"Are you thinking of treatment?" Monica asked, looking at Mulder. "Psychotherapy?"

"I don't know," Mulder said sadly. "I'm not even sure whether she's strong enough for that."

"And we don't want it backfirin'," John added. "The last thing Dana needs is another stay in the ICU."

"Agreed," Mulder said quietly.

"But then where does that leave us? We can't let it keep happenin', either."

"She's mentioned some things before," Monica recalled. "She wanted to talk to Father McCue, visit her sister's grave, get some photos of her father ..."

"Then maybe it's time we gave those things priority," Mulder concluded.

"Could be a bit late," John said. "When she was talkin' of visitin' Melissa's grave, she said she wanted to go with all her family. Christi mentioned on the phone that Bill and Tara are flyin' back to San Diego in the morning. Even if we left now we wouldn't make it."

"Then we'll have to do the best we can without them," Monica said, swallowing down the unpleasant news. "We can still make it special, even if it's just us. And her mother will still be with us, and Father McCue will still be reachable as well."

There was a pause, and Monica waited as both John and Mulder turned over the idea in their minds. At last, John nodded.

"All right. Then we'll head to Washington?"

"Yes," Monica replied. "We all need rest for tonight, but later in the day we're going to have to talk about it."

"I think it might help as well if we stay with her mother when we reach Washington," Mulder said.."In the absence of Bill and Tara, and of her father and Melissa, the home environment is the best substitute we can give her."

"If it'll help her," John agreed.

"What about you?" Mulder asked her.

"Of course," Monica answered. "She needs her family."

She felt Mulder and John both staring at her for longer than what was necessary, and she felt something inside her squirm, knowing they were thinking of her own lost relatives. She hoped frantically they wouldn't touch the subject, and looked away from their inquiring eyes. When this didn't help, she stood up, and throwing John a smile, she picked up the cue.

"Want a game while we're waiting?"

He did not look keen, but went along with the suggestion.

"You bet," he answered, with a faked cheeriness. "I owe you an ass-kicking from that game of Scrabble."

Monica grinned.

"You wanna join in?" John asked Mulder. "Take turns?"

"No, thanks," Mulder said, twisting on the window seat to look out the dark window.

Monica went over to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"She'll be okay," she said gently. "Just take things easy with her. Let her lead."

"I should never have touched her," Mulder said quietly. He sounded gutted.

"No, you were right to," Monica replied. "You love each other deeply and you need to share it, and more now than ever before. _Keep _touching her. Just make sure it's about love, not sex."

She looked into his eyes and hoped with all her heart that he would understand, and at last, after several long seconds of waiting on tenterhooks, he nodded. He reached down for her hand, squeezed it, and then stepped up with her and moved them to join John at the pool table.

He took the cue from John's hands and stepped around to stand at the head of the table.

"How do you want to play?" he asked, leaning over to line up the balls. "Teams? Straightforward knockout? Loser does ten laps naked?"

"Ten laps and a striptease," Monica said, smiling flirtatiously.

"Much as I love a bit of fun, I've already seen Mulder naked tonight," John said flatly.

"I thought you said _I_ was going to lose?" Monica joked.

"So I did," John said, and a smile spread on his lips as his eyes slipped down Monica's body.

Monica grinned and took the cue from Mulder. They were in for a shock, for Scrabble wasn't the only game Monica excelled at. Seven years at the New York field office - home of an agents' lounge housing five pool tables - had taught her a thing or two about pool as well - especially when it was played against overconfident, testosterone-charged men.

XXX

With tear-stained cheeks, Scully headed down the corridor for the pool room, leaving the kind doctor waiting by the fire. The doctor's suggestion that she learn to recognise the signs of a coming panic attack, and hence avoid it before it happened, was not surprising to Scully. But what had really unravelled her had been the doctor's insistence that she tell her family what had happened. She knew how much her previous panic attack had terrified her mother, and was in no hurry to confess that she had had another one - not when she had gone to so much trouble to insist she was fine. But it was perplexing, because at the same time as her fear and humiliation kept her wanting to keep it a secret forever, she also understood the doctor's reasoning - that she had to stay honest with her family, if they were going to help her. She had to work _with _them, not against them ...but the fact remained that while Scully could possibly admit to having a panic attack, to be expected to confess what had caused it to the whole of her family - especially Bill - would only serve to make her feel a hundred times worse.

"Dana."

As Scully moved into the doorway, she was met immediately with Monica's concerned eyes. Laying her cue aside, she crossed the floor to her, accompanied by a worried-looking John and a significantly cheered up Mulder.

Mulder wasted no time in putting his arm around her, and the familiar gesture, completely devoid of all the awkwardness she had feared would be present between them, relaxed her instantly. Without thinking she turned in his arms and put her head against the black t-shirt hugging his chest - which smelt of old sweat - and closed her eyes. The arm around her shoulders tightened to hold her close, his hand roaming up and down over her back and shoulderblades, and his other hand wove into her hair, smoothing it back, while his lips grazed her temple.

"It's all going to be okay, Scully," he whispered in her ear. "Any difficulties we have, we can face them together."

In response Scully lifted her arms around his waist and squeezed, holding him tight as she sighed against his chest and he dropped another kiss on her hair.

It was another minute before they parted, and when they did Scully found both John and Monica smiling with relief.

"Mind if I have one?" Monica asked, beaming as her heart melted at the scene.

Scully smiled, too, and she let go of Mulder to stand on tiptoe and wrap her arms around Monica. When she let go she moved to hug John as well, and he rubbed her back a little and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, before they separated and Scully stood back to let Mulder put his arm around her again - even as she slid one back around his waist, wanting his warm body close.

"What did the doctor say?" Mulder asked.

"She said she thinks it would beneficial if I learned to acknowledge the signs of a coming attack, and to come to you, instead of fleeing."

"It'd make things a lot easier," John agreed.

"Did she say anything else?" Monica asked.

"Yes," Scully said, and she took a deep breath. "She wants my family to be informed of what happened."

She saw Monica, John and Mulder all exchange looks.

"We talked about it while you were out there," John said, in response to Scully's questioning look. "We think it'd be best if they know, even if just the part about you having an attack."

"Except it won't be that easy," Scully replied, sighing.

"What do you mean?" Mulder asked.

"Well what would your first question be?" Scully said. "Wouldn't it be 'why'?"

"Then we can tell your mom it was because you were remembering things," Monica answered. "It's not so far-fetched. That's how it happened last time."

"It's not hard to believe," John added. "Lying awake in the middle of the night, of course you're gonna start thinking about what happened ..."

"Yes," Scully said softly.

"Then we're not following as to what the problem is," Mulder said.

"The problem," Scully said, sighing again, "is that had the roles been reversed, and it had been one of my family going through all this while I waited back in Washington, I wouldn't believe that for an instant. And therefore I don't expect them to, either. I mean, my mom, yes, and Tara, yes, and maybe even Bill, but Charlie ..."

"He knows you well," Mulder agreed.

"And he's like you," John added. "Doesn't miss a thing."

"Even so," Monica said, "would it really be that bad? You have nothing to be ashamed of, Dana. It's a textbook symptom of trauma. They've probably been warned already to expect it, and all your family are mature people. They're not going to flinch, or bolt out of the room at hearing it ... and it would do a lot less damage to tell them rather than keep the whole incident of tonight a secret only to have them find out somehow later."

"Monica -"

"Scully, if the roles were reversed," Mulder interrupted, "and it was Charlie up here having these problems while you waited in Washington, how would you react if you heard? If, say, he couldn't perform for his girlfriend?"

Scully considered the vision, bypassing the fact that Charlie did not have a girlfriend and trying to imagine how she would feel.

"I'd feel sorry for him," Scully said. "And I'd do my best to bridge any awkwardness he might feel and to help him see that there's no reason to feel ashamed. And if there was something I could do to help, in prescribing him something until it passed, then ..."

"Then you have your answer," John said.

Scully fell quiet. It made perfect logical sense. She could imagine Charlie would truly care, could see her other family members supporting her as best they could as well ... but the logic did nothing to quell the extreme awkwardness she felt at thinking of it. But as soon as the thought struck she suddenly recalled a time, years ago now, when Bill and Tara were first married and had been trying desperately for a child. Her mother, whom she had never talked about sex with before, had surprised her by insisting it was the modern world, they could talk about these things now, and suggesting they each get checked by a fertility doctor. But Scully had put it down to her mother's desperate desire for grandchildren at the time. Would her mother be as open to hearing about Scully's sexual problems, in a relationship which existed outside of wedlock and had no chance of producing offspring?

"Let's just take it as it comes," Monica said. "We won't wake her now, but in the morning I'll call and explain what happened. And if the subject arises, we'll just play it by ear."

"Give 'em a chance," John said.

Scully nodded. She appreciated not having to make the call herself. It would make things a lot easier.

"Did the doctor say anything else?" Mulder asked.

"Just that she wants to speak with you," Scully said.

"I'd better go, then," he said, but he was in no hurry, and made sure to lean down and very gently press his lips to hers first. Then he pulled away, pressed another kiss to her forehead, before slipping gently away and moving for the door.

Scully turned to watch as he disappeared from view.

"Are you okay?" Monica asked, stepping forward.

"Yeah, I'm okay," Scully said. "I just feel tired."

"Why don't you get some sleep?" John suggested.

Scully nodded silently, but her eyes fell on the broad window seat across the room - the large window that held the stunning view of the ocean in the daytime, and through which she could still hear the lullaby of the sea outside. She could almost smell the saltwater near that window.

John followed her gaze, but made no sense of what held her attention and immediately squeezed her shoulder to bring her back to them.

"How about takin' a pill to help you rest?"

Scully nodded silently again, and John said, "I'll get 'em", and moved past her to head for her bag in the room she shared with Mulder.

After another moment of gazing at the window, Scully came to a decision, and she turned and followed him across the hallway to the small, dimly lit bedroom.

The covers on the single bed were still a complete mess from being tossed aside, and Scully reached for them and straightened them out flat again.

Monica was moving around, gathering up the items of clothing that had been thrown aside in Scully's earlier passion with Mulder.

"You want to put these on?" Monica asked, holding out the flannel pyjamas.

"No," Scully said, shaking her head.

"No?"

But Scully didn't answer Monica and John's confusion, and instead just picked up the soft pillow in one hand, and the top two blankets in her other. Then she carried it all back across the hall to the window seat in the pool room. She tossed the pillow down at the head of the seat, and rearranged the existing cushions in a pile at the other end, and then she spread out the blankets over the length of the seat and climbed under them.

Monica sat down with her. She reached for Scully's hand as Scully happily leaned her head back against the window glass and listened to the waves crashing on the rocks.

"You have the sea in your blood, don't you?"

"It brings back so many memories," Scully replied softly. "Going out with my father when we were kids, spending time at the beach ..."

Monica smiled. "You loved him a lot."

"I still do."

Monica opened her mouth to reply, but lost her train of thought as John returned with a glass of water and the bottle of sleeping pills.

"Here you go," he said, handing her the glass and unscrewing the cap. "Swallow one of these."

Scully did, and handed him back the glass just in time to feel another wave of exhaustion seep throughout her body.

"Lie down," Monica said, recognising it instantly.

Scully wriggled down under the blanket. The seat was hard, but still after two weeks of sleeping on the floor of the plane it felt normal, and it did not bother her.

"Would you like us to stay with you?" Monica asked. "Until Mulder gets back?"

But Scully's head had already sunk into the heavenly soft pillow, and the sound of the ocean was already working its lullaby magic. She had been up over twenty-four hours now, and her body was grateful to finally get some rest. She was already drifting into sleep and Monica's voice came from a distance. Scully did not have the energy to answer her.

But she felt Monica rest her hand on her shoulder, heard the light switch click off, and a moment later felt the blanket move near her feet as John sat back down with them in the darkness.

That was all she remembered.

XXX

Later, when she woke, the ocean seemed louder and her hazy mind immediately concluded it must be high tide. She had moved toward the window in her sleep, and she could feel the cold coming off the glass and cooling her face. She lifted her head a little off the pillow, forcing her sleepy eyes open to see whether it was dawn yet, but the window was still completely black, and there were no shades of red or gold as yet peaking over the horizon.

"Are you awake?"

She looked over her shoulder and saw the reason she had woken: Mulder had returned from his talk with the doctor and was standing beside the seat. The light was still off, but the door to the hallway was left open and a glow from a distant light in the living room was enough for her to make out his form. She could hear Monica and John talking softly with the doctor.

"Yeah, I'm awake," Scully finally answered, turning over and propping herself up on an elbow. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," he said, crouching beside the seat with a reassuring smile. "There's nothing to worry about."

She nodded and reached out for him. He linked his fingers with hers and met her halfway as she leaned over for a brief, warm kiss.

"You've been listening to the waves?" he asked.

"Mm-hmm," she replied.

"Do you think your father would mind if I joined you?"

Scully stifled a smile. "I can see no reason why he'd object."

"You mean other than the fact that I'm living in sin with his good, Catholic daughter?"

"I doubt I've ever been a good, Catholic daughter."

Unseen under the covers, Scully was pulling at the knot of her terry cloth robe. Then when she could go no further without Mulder noticing, she sat up and let it fall back off her shoulders, exposing her naked body to him.

"Oh, Scully ..."

His breath had caught in his throat, but Scully enjoyed the feeling of making him speechless, and even more the look on his face when he realised she was enjoying herself and struggled to prove his composure again and not let her have the upper hand.

"You should keep warm," he said, pointing vaguely at the discarded robe and struggling to keep his eyes away from both her breasts and between her legs. "We don't want you getting sick."

"I think that's why I have you," Scully said smoothly. She paused and then said, "Take your clothes off, Mulder."

"What happened to taking things slowly?"

"We are," Scully replied. "This is as far as it's going. I just want you to help me keep warm."

A smile spread across his lips, and at the way his eyes twinkled Scully couldn't help giving him one in return.

"Come on," she said, tugging on his fingers.

He stood up and started unbuckling the belt on the jeans he had thrown on earlier. Scully watched as he stripped them off, followed by his t-shirt and boxers, until he was standing there naked before her.

"You know this is a sin," he pointed out, tossing his t-shirt aside in a heap on the floor. "You're not worried someone's going to put a bad word in with St Peter?"

"Given that I'm already on charges of the desecration of the dead, I figured I might as well go all the way."

He smiled, not bothered by her words. "In for a penny, in for a pound?"

"Something like that."

He pulled up the blankets and wriggled in beside her. Scully pulled the blankets back over them and then shifted closer toward him, letting him take her in his arms and feeling their bare bodies touch each other, skin to skin right down to their toes.

"Are you all right?" he breathed in her ear, as Scully put her head into his neck.

"I don't know," Scully confessed, thinking in a painful wave of all the things that were so very wrong, of all the heartbreak they were struggling to carry. Would they ever get through?

"It's going to be all right," he said, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Scully slid her arm around his hips, clutching him tighter to her.

"Hold me, Mulder."

And without a word, he did, tightening his hold until not even the smallest molecules of air could squeeze between them, and Scully tried hard to wrench her mind away from the mountain and plant it on the ocean instead, listening to the continuous crashing of waves against rocks, and remembering the days so long ago in her childhood, when she had never even known pain like this existed.

XXX

It was seven in the morning and the house was silent. Monica padded quietly over the wooden floor of the living room, crossing to the kitchen where she found the box of food. Unearthing a tub of diced fruit, she peeled off the lid and found a spoon and then looked out the kitchen window to the stillness outside.

All three of her friends were still asleep. John was exhausted, and looked as though he would not emerge for several hours yet. She had also looked in on Mulder and Scully, and saw that they were entwined naked together on the window seat, the blanket having slipped down to their waists during the night. She had tip-toed across to switch on the electric heater in the corner and then tip-toed out again, closing the door behind her.

She was comforted by what she saw of Mulder and Scully, hugely relieved that they had decided to not let it bother them and work together to keep their relationship going. She knew they had already put the events of the night behind them, but even though it already felt like history Monica knew she would have to go ahead with the call to Margaret Scully. They had a right to be kept informed, and something as serious as Scully's panic attacks could not be kept from them. But Monica, glancing again at the clock, thought she would wait another hour or so before picking up the phone. She didn't want to scare them, and to have a phone call at seven would only panic them, whereas eight o'clock was not as bad.

But that was far from the only thing worrying Monica. Scully's close call had opened her mind to the dangerous situation they were in, and she could not help feeling that all four of them were standing on very thin ice - ice that was melting. If they were going to all pull through, active steps would need to be taken toward acknowledging the long recovery process. The things they had agreed on during the night - returning to Washington, seeking out Father McCue and visiting Melissa's grave - was only scratching the surface of what she knew needed to be done. And when her friends woke, Monica knew she would have to be the one to sit them down and make them face facts, to form a plan of battle about what they were going to do. For if they kept going like this ...

Monica forced the thought away. It would not help. She had to be positive, be productive in thinking of a way out for them.

Dropping the empty tub in the bin and putting her spoon on the sink, Monica walked quickly out the room and snatched up her coat, which had somehow came to be lying over the back of one of the couches. She wrapped it around her, did up the buttons, and then picked up a stray pink scarf and tucked that around her neck too, remembering suddenly that it was actually Tara's. She would have to return it to her next time their paths crossed.

And then, all rugged up, Monica headed for the front door and opened it to emerge into the cold morning air under the perfect blue sky that had the sun sparkling over the ocean.

Stuffing her hands in her coat pockets, Monica followed an old stone path toward the cliffs, where she saw it wind its way down to the beach below.

She knew she would not meet anyone. It was too early and too cold for the locals, and they were in a fairly remote area. And it would be a shame to return to Washington without taking a wander around the beach.

XXX

John woke with the feeling that something was seriously wrong, and it only took a split second and a glance at the empty, cold space beside him for him to realise what it was.

Monica was gone.

Puzzled, he pushed himself up on his elbows, looking around the small bedroom. But she was not there. And what was more, the house was silent - hell, everything was silent. He could only hear a bird tweeting nearby and the waves of the ocean, but nothing of people.

"Monica?"

But there was no answer, and John threw back the covers and swung his bare feet to the carpet. He quickly made his way to the door and looked around the living room, but she was not there. He hurried for the kitchen, but she was not there, either. Thinking fast, he hurried to the bathroom. The door was wide open, but although a towel had been deposited on the rail - showing someone had taken a shower - there was no sign of Monica.

Was she in with Mulder and Scully, perhaps having another girl talk?

As quietly as he could, he turned the handle on the pool room and swung the door open, but Mulder and Scully were both still asleep together, and there was no one else in the room.

Shit.

But no, he couldn't panic. There was a logical explanation for where she would be. But even as he thought it, the words of Dr Cheung were already swallowing his mind ... _Don't turn your backs ... Seconds is all it's going to take ..._

No. There had to be a logical explanation. Monica knew how it had hurt to lose Holly and Follmer to suicide. He told himself there was no way she would do that to them.

The room Mulder and Scully had been using? Had she perhaps wanted to sleep by herself for a while? It was possible ... Barbara used to accuse him of hogging the bed ...

But that room was empty too.

"Monica?"

Now desperate, he struggled to think. Monica had volunteered to phone Mrs Scully. Was that where she was? Had she taken the cordless and gone somewhere quiet?

He sped back around to the kitchen, but the cordless was still in its holder. Glancing out the window, he saw no sign of Monica on the verandah, or anywhere near their Bureau fleet car, which was shining in the morning sun.

Panic now gripped him.

Shit. _Shit, shit, shit._

He bolted back toward the pool room, carelessly throwing open the door this time and running across to where Mulder and Scully slept.

He gripped Mulder's shoulder and shook him.

"_Wake up_."

"John?" Scully slurred, lifting her head from Mulder's chest and blinking sleepily. "Whasamatter?"

"I can't find Monica," he said urgently. "She's gone."

Instantly both Mulder and Scully looked awake, and he found Scully's wide blue eyes staring at him.

"What do you mean?" Mulder asked, sitting up.

"I mean I can't find her," John said quickly. "She's disappeared."

Scully threw back the blankets, and John turned around and hurried out the room again to allow the two of them to find clothes. When they joined him a minute later where he was pacing the verandah, looking in every direction around the surrounding land, they were both fully dressed and every bit as panicked as John felt.

"MONICA!"

He called, but received no response. The world was still.

Mulder jogged down the stairs and went straight for the car. The window tinting did not allow them to see inside, so he threw open the door, but Monica was not there. In a flash, Mulder was jogging off behind the house, and John ran down the steps with Scully.

"She can't have gone far," Scully said, touching him on the back as she passed him and headed for the cliffs.

_The cliffs_, he thought, and the sight shot to his heart so painfully that he almost collapsed.

He heard Mulder calling around the back of the house, near where the forest started to thicken. "MONICA!"

"AGENT REYES!" echoed Scully, jogging along the cliff line.

"ANSWER US, MONICA!" John yelled.

He stopped and turned on the spot. Where the hell was she? He tried to think like her, but came up blank. He found himself wishing she had retreated to the bathroom like Scully. At least they had known where Scully had gone, however terrifying it had been ...

Scully was disappearing further up the cliff line, along the stone track that eventually led down to the secluded beach below. Realising he was falling behind, John ran to catch up, but he could not run as fast as he used to, being so incredibly unfit and out of shape, and he had to settle for a jog in order that he could breathe at the same time. As he ran he glanced down over the edge to the sand below, searching for a body whilst praying he wouldn't in fact find one.

Off to the side, Mulder kept calling, dodging in and out of the trees that surrounded the property, searching, searching ...

"MONICA!"

Up ahead, Scully's red hair was still shining bright in the sun, and she kept calling, too ...

"AGENT REYES!"

"DANA!"

John froze at the familiar voice, and ahead he saw Scully spin around to look at him as well. Both of them held their breath for a moment.

"MONICA?" John called, searching the horizons.

"I'M DOWN HERE!"

Scully turned, and John saw relief flood her features just before she broke into a run again, and speeding down the old, rough track that wove down the cliffs. John jogged after her. He looked for Mulder, but Mulder had already heard and was running to join them.

John followed Scully down the cliffs, slowing in places as the track became a little sharp and he feared for his balance. The edge was roped off all the way down, but some of the stakes holding the ropes up were on bizarre angles, and John guessed they hadn't been touched since being put there, which was probably forty years ago, back when Mulder had been a kid.

Now reaching the beach, John was forced to slow as he sank into the soft sand. Monica was ahead of them, calming leaning against a rock. She looked completely at ease, as if she had been having a relaxing time looking out to sea.

"Monica!"

Scully reached her before him, and she hit the sand, one hand immediately reaching out to check Monica's pulse on her neck.

"I'm okay!" Monica said, looking worried over how worried they were.

John caught up to them and dropped to his knees as well.

"Why the hell didn't you tell us you were down here?" he yelled. "We thought -"

He broke off, unable to voice what his thoughts had been.

"Well, I'm alive," Monica said, reaching out for his head and giving it a squeeze. "Relax."

Scully was giving Monica a hard look, and John shared her frustration. But he tried to hold it down, knowing how delicate Monica was and not wanting to risk a fight which might only cause her to fulfil his nightmares after all.

Trying hard to quash his anger, he leaned forward for her.

"Thank God you're okay," he said, pulling her to him. He kissed her hard on the lips, but Monica returned it gently.

"I'm sorry," Scully said, as he pulled away from Monica. "You just had us scared."

"I understand," Monica replied, and John saw a flash in her eyes of both Holly and Follmer, and knew she meant it. "I'm sorry, I probably should have left you a note."

"Next time, that'd be a great idea," Mulder said, coming to join them and sinking down onto the sand, out of breath and leaning back on his hands.

"Are you all right?" Scully asked, switching her attention to him as he struggled to catch his breath.

"Yeah," he said, waving her away and sitting up straight again. "Just out of shape."

"What about you?" John asked Monica. "Why'd you come all the way down here, anyway?"

"I'm okay," Monica said, leaning against him and sliding an arm warmly around his waist. "It was just peaceful, and I felt like taking a walk. I needed time to think."

John felt his heart soften and he held her against him, her idiot parents immediately springing to his mind.

"What is it that's bothering you?" Scully asked, shifting her position to get comfortable in the sand, so that the four of them were all sitting facing each other, Monica leaning sideways against John's chest.

"Many things," Monica replied, and John reluctantly let her go as she slipped out of his arms to sit upright again. "I think we need to talk."

XXX

Monica had not planned to have the talk this early in the day, but she had not counted on her friends waking up to find her gone, either. And now, sitting alone on a beautiful, sunny, deserted beach felt like the ideal opportunity.

"I'm worried," she confessed. "Dana, what happened to you last night has got me thinking. Because, if the truth be told, I don't think any of us are okay. In fact, we're a _long way _from okay. This past week has been a nightmare, and if we don't start doing something positive to help ourselves, I think our mental healths are going to continue to get steadily worse."

She paused, and was glad to see that none of the three of them were arguing her judgement.

"Now, we've had no choice over a lot of things. We had to do our best to attend the funerals, to stay in Washington while they were on, and between them, the FBI and the media we haven't had time to face any of the raw emotions we need to start dealing with. And we _need _to start dealing with them if we're going to survive. The funerals are over now, we're free to do what we like, to face our future, and I think the time has come for us to consider what we each need to do in order to start the long process of healing. Even we only take it in baby steps, to do something really little each day, the crucial thing is to make sure we're doing something more than leaving it to chance."

She paused again and, took one of John's hands in hers, and reached across to hold one of Scully's as well, who she could see had tears in her eyes. Mulder moved closer to her and put his arm around her shoulders.

"Dana, the three of us were talking last night, while you were with the doctor. I haven't called your mom yet - I will when we get back - but as well as that I think there are some other things we need to do. Namely to do those things you first suggested when we were at John's house: to visit Melissa's grave, to find Father McCue, and to get any and all the photos and memories you want from your Mom's place. The three of us agreed after your panic attack that we want to give those things priority, and so I think one of the things we need to do is to agree on when we're going to head back to Washington."

"We thought we'd stay at your Mom's house as well," John added. "So you can spend a little time there."

Scully looked teary-eyed, and had trouble finding words to reply, but Monica squeezed her hand and went on.

"But before we agree on when we're going to leave, there are some other things I want to talk about first. And that's about your needs," Monica said, looking into John's blue eyes. "We each have things we need to do, and we all know that one thing you need is to go to Atlanta and see all your family. So after we get to Washington and work our way through the things Dana needs to do there, I think we need to drive down to Atlanta."

"Absolutely," Mulder quickly agreed. "I think if anything, it's overdue."

"Your mom's already said we're all welcome, and that Dana's family is welcome too, so we'll all go together and spend some time down there as a group."

John looked as speechless as Scully had been.

"Is that still what you want?" Scully asked, when John remained quiet.

"Yes," John said, looking up at them all with tear-filled eyes. "I'll be honest that I want to be around them. And to see my aunts, uncles, cousins that I haven't even had a chance to talk to yet. Just to spend time with them, see them all ..."

"Then we'll go straight there after Washington," Scully said firmly. "And stay for as long as you need."

"Are you sure you're okay with that?" John asked.

"Of course," Mulder answered. "There's nothing to keep us in Washington. And to be honest, it's the last place I want to be. We'll go there to help you, Scully, but I hope you aren't offended when I say that I don't want to stay there long term."

"I'm not offended," Scully said. "I don't particularly want to be there, either. It was a relief to come up here, and I think I'd like Atlanta as well."

"Then it's settled," Monica said. "And that leaves you."

Monica looked at Mulder.

"Reg and Clare," Monica clarified. "You've known them all your life, we know what they must meant to you, and we can't leave without giving you the chance to enjoy their company for a while. So this afternoon, or tonight, we need to call them up and either go over to their place, or invite them over to yours."

"No," Mulder said quickly.

"Why?"

Mulder glanced sideways at Scully, and he tightened his arm around her. "Because Scully's not ready to face people. It's easy for me, I've known them for years, but for others ... and I know that if it were me, I wouldn't be ready, either."

"I feel the same way," John said, looking to Scully with complete understanding. "It's one thing with your families, but with someone who feels like a complete stranger ..."

"It's hard," Scully finished, giving Monica an apologetic look.

"Then I'll go," Monica said, squeezing her hand. "I'll go with Mulder."

Mulder shook his head. "No ..."

"No, Mulder, you need to," Scully said. "Monica's right."

He was silent.

"We've all had our families around," John said. "It's only fair you get your time, too."

At last, Mulder nodded.

"Okay," he said. "But if it's all right with you, I'd rather talk to them alone. Go for a walk up the beach, perhaps."

"Take as long as you need," Monica said.

There was a momentary silence.

"And what about you?" Scully asked, meeting Monica's eyes. "You've suffered more than any of us, and surely there must be things you want to do as well."

Monica felt a pit of snakes begin to slither in her stomach.

"Monica?"

She felt John put his arm around her again and Monica took a deep breath.

"Before I answer that, there are some things I need to ask you first."

"What is it?" Mulder asked.

"Did you ever find out about the inheritance?"

She tried to make it sound casual, but she heard the strain in her own voice, and felt John's arm and Scully's hand grip her harder.

"Yes," Mulder answered sadly. "And I'm sorry to say you were right."

The news was expected, but it didn't make it any less painful, and Monica felt a flare of agony. She felt heat behind her eyes and Scully shifted closer to her side.

"I know it doesn't necessarily help to hear this," Scully said, "but we'll be financially okay. Mulder and I have quite a bit put away, and you're welcome to share everything we have. You don't need to worry."

Monica was so touched she felt a few tears slip out. John reached out and caught them, brushing them aside.

"I'm okay," Monica said, trying to recover. "I expected it. I just wanted to know for sure."

It was a few seconds before her blurry vision cleared, but with her friends' affection, and with all of them touching her, she managed to pull herself together.

"There's something else."

"Name it," Mulder said.

But Monica hesitated. For the thousandth time that morning, she debated whether to tell them all, or whether to simply pull Scully aside and ask her on her own. But for the thousandth time, she knocked the idea down. Scully would have to know, John had a right to know, and she could not tell Scully and John and exclude Mulder. It was all or nothing, they all knew everything about each other's conditions, and she would have to be honest.

"There's something wrong with me," she said nervously.

"What do you mean 'something wrong'?" John asked, sounding scared.

"I found the tampons in my bag," Monica said, meeting Scully's eyes. "And it made me realise that I'm overdue."

"How far overdue?" Scully asked, doctor eyes narrowed on her.

"About a week," Monica replied.

"You don't think you're pregnant?" John asked.

"No," Monica answered, quickly squeezing his hand to reassure him. "I can't be. I'm just not menstruating."

"Well it's nothing to worry about," Scully assured her quickly. "It's simply because of the amount of weight you've lost. We were starving up there, your body was short of energy, and in those conditions it's a body's natural response to begin shutting down the non-essentials. All you need to do is to eat properly, put on a little weight, and it'll come back."

"Is there any lasting damage?" Mulder asked. "Can she still have kids?"

"Absolutely," Scully replied. "It's just a question of keeping your body supplied with energy, and to give it a little time to recover. There's no reason to be scared."

Monica felt a wave of relief take her. It was wonderful news. John leaned forward to kiss her again, and Monica happily accepted it, kissing him back fully.

"But let us know when it does return," Scully said.

"I will," Monica promised.

"Now back to the key question," Mulder said. "You were going to tell us what it was you wanted to do."

"You're right," Monica said, and the pit of snakes returned in full force. "But before I do I want your word you'll hear me out to the end before you launch your protest."

"Why should we protest?" John asked, narrowing his eyes.

Monica ignored him. _He would say that now, but ..._

"What is it?" Scully asked gently.

Monica took a deep breath and summoned every ounce of courage she could find. Then, she took another deep breath and tried to get the sentence out as firmly as she could.

"I want to sell our story to the media."

* * *

_I'm sorry to say I think my motivation is waning, and I'm thinking of taking a break for a while. But we'll see how it goes, maybe it's just a boring patch._


	25. Chapter 25

_I decided to take the advice and completely change what I was going to do to give it a shot of adrenaline. This was originally going to occur much later in the story, but I've fast-tracked it. Maybe it fits better here? Either way, I'd really love to hear your thoughts._

**

* * *

**

**_Chapter 53 - Divided We Fall_**

They all stared at her in shock, Scully with her mouth open slightly and gaping in bewilderment, Mulder looking as though he'd been winded, and John's narrowed eyes were frantically searching hers as though he was determined he was missing something. For the few seconds in which this took place, silence fell between them, so that the sounds of the waves lapping onto the sand were more pronounced to Monica than ever, but as she gave them a moment to recover, she also felt a fiery determination light up within her and she was utterly determined to hold her ground, even as she saw the identical determination in the opposite direction enamating from John.

She saw John's mouth open, ready to deliver any one of a possible hundred offensive remarks she had become accustomed to hearing when working with him on the X-Files, but she cut him off

"_Hear _me out," she said firmly, looking hard into his eyes.

His mouth shut again, but she saw Scully stiffen back into _Special Agent _Scully and exchange a look with him.

"It's not a whim," Monica began. "There are many reasons why I think it's a good idea, the first of which being that the media aren't going to leave us alone until we sell the story to _someone_. And as long as it remains unsold, they're going to keep pursuing us, and we're never going to get any peace. And I think you know that we can't hide here forever. The second we get back to Washington they're going to know about it and be on our tail again all the way to Atlanta. They're probably stalking all your relatives as it is trying to find us, and that isn't fair on them, either. And we can't expect to ever begin healing, or even _think _about, while we have a thousand cameras on our heels."

She saw Scully's frustration had weakened a little with the logic of her statement, but she also saw in her eyes the hatred Scully held for the media and she was caught between two conflicting emotions.

"Secondly," Monica went on, "is that whether we like it or not, the families of the people we lost _do _have a right to know what happened. We know Jana has told them how they died, but to a grieving parent, sibling or partner, that's not going to be enough. They need to know how it was up there, they need to understand it completely before they can start healing too. And if we tell our story through the media that's one way of getting it across without having to do a hundred separate visits and killing ourselves in the process."

She now saw John's face weaken. He had lost his own son, and she could see his heart going out to all the invisible parents of the agents who had died. They hadn't had time to consider it thus far, but they could not hide from them forever. Jana could not shield them forever.

"Furthermore, there's the practical side. We are talking about _millions _of dollars. It's a lot of money and not an opportunity we're likely to get again. And yes, it will be extremely hard to talk about it, but when you think of what we'll be getting paid for just one or two hours of work, I think it's something we _have _to consider. With that money we won't ever have to work again if we find we can't, we'll be set up for life. And as well as that, we'll be able to support all your family members, too. Just imagine how we can help them, give them something in return for all the help they're giving us. Dana, even just think of what we could do for Matthew and Lizzie - and Bill and Tara's third child on the way. They've been scarred by this too, they're going to have it on their shoulders their whole lives now, just through sharing your surname. And when they begin to grow up and realise what it is that's happened, we'll be able to help. The money will never be a substitute for what they'll be facing on a daily basis, but it'll assist them. We can give all of them the _best _education available, and any career they want. And anything everyone else wants as well. Tara won't have to work anymore if she doesn't want to. No one will. The money might not make you feel better, but having it can open a lot of doors for us and give us all our freedom."

She saw tears in Scully's eyes now. Perhaps she had not realised the effect this would have on her niece and nephew. 

Mulder reached out and squeezed her shoulder. John looked depressed.

"And then there's our own health," Monica continued. "It's been a week now and still none of us have said a word. Your families still have no idea what it is we faced up there, and they need to hear it from us. And I don't know about you, but I think it would help a lot to get some of it off our chests. We can't bottle it up forever. _Especially _you, Dana. You're trying to hold so much in that your mind can't cope with it all. Talking about some of the things you're holding back will help. And it's not impossible. None of us are doing it on our own, we can deliver it as a team. We know where each other's weak points are and we can cover them easily. I can take the part about Skinner, you can take Brad ... we can share it around to make it work."

"And if all that isn't enough," Monica said, looking into Scully's swimming blue eyes, "then look at it from the point of view of a scientist. _All _your life, Dana, you've felt ambition. Ambition to make good use of your intelligence, to contribute to the intellectual world and earn the respect you crave. You tried medicine, it didn't work. You tried the mainstream FBI and found that didn't satisfy you either. But _now _you have it, Dana. _You alone _have the power to explain all of this to trauma doctors all around the world. They have the study, the research and the titles, but they don't truly know how it feels. We know how it feels but don't have the medical background to make sense of it. _You _have it, and with that combined, you are one in a billion. You're a professional, you're respectable, and you can talk to them on their own level. You can explain it, Dana, and advance the field of post-traumatic stress a hundred years forward. Just think of all the people you can help, just through detailing how it truly is. Think of all the people all around the world who have suffered from trauma. Think of soldiers returning from war zones, think of victims of violence and assault, think of even train drivers who've had citizens commit suicide by throwing themselves in front of their train while they're driving it. All of these people are so alone in ordinary society, struggling along on what counselling they can afford. But _you _can change that. If you take the stand with us, you can show them that they aren't crazy. You can be such an inspiration, Dana."

Monica halted then, finally running out of words to say. She felt her heart pounding with a mixture of emotion and determination, but the silence fell again to just the rush of the ocean, the in and out of the tide, and the morning sun on their faces. She waited while her friends struggled to absorb all her words, while they looked between each other, Scully and John both teary-eyed, Mulder looking distant and thoughtful.

Eventually, John found his voice.

"I don't know what to tell ya," he said, shaking his head with a look of being overwhelmed. "What you said makes sense in itself, but I still can't say I'm eager to sit down and have some young journalist rip us to pieces. If you wanna see this as an intellectual challenge, if that's gonna help, then I'm happy for ya. But ..."

He trailed off, shrugging. Monica felt disappointment sting her, but she tried to be understanding, and squeezed his hand tight.

"I don't know what to say, either," Scully said quietly. "I mean, all you said is true, and I can't deny that the thought of being of such use to the medical profession would be appealing, but John's right that there is still an enormous amount of pain involved, and even if we helped each other in taking the difficult parts, it would still be a load that could easily break us. And as logical as everything you've said is, I can't help being afraid of what might happen to us."

"I think we're going to need to think about it," Mulder said, finally breaking his silence. "None of us can give you an answer right away."

"It's just a lot to consider," Scully added.

"I understand," Monica said, and she reached out and squeezed Scully's arm.

An awkward silence fell, in which Monica was sure that despite her best efforts, her friends knew how heavy her disappointment was, and that this made them uncomfortable.

"I'm going to walk back to the house," she said. "Call your mom."

Scully nodded. "We'll be up in a minute."

Knowing they wanted to talk alone, Monica agreed, and after sharing a soft kiss with John, she slipped her fingers from his and climbed to her feet, heading for the steep track that wound up the cliffs, and as she walked, feeling a heavy disappointment and hating herself for feeling it.

She felt her friends' eyes on her back, but she did not look over her shoulder. But with each step she took, the feeling of being truly alone in the world intensified. She had no family now, and her friends did not share any of her desire to tell their story.

She was alone, as alone as Holly and Brad had been. Six billion people in the world, and not one of them understood.

XXX

It was the worst day since the initial plane crash.

She had returned the beach house and made the phone call to Mrs Scully, who had reacted with pure maternal fear at first, until Monica's patient reassurance and calm attitude eventually soothed her. By that time, Monica spotted her three friends strolling back from the cliffs, and had ended the call with a promise to get Scully to call them back as soon as she returned.

When the door opened and they came in, they stopped at the bench and Monica hoisted a look of calm contentment on her face.

"Your Mom would like you to call her," Monica said, holding out the cordless for Scully.

Scully took the phone, but did not say anything.

"She's okay," Monica emphasised, giving Scully a smile. "She's just relieved you're all right."

"Thank you," Scully said, but she set the phone down again and looked at Monica with an air that they had something unpleasant to say to her. Monica waited, a horrible feeling creeping into her chest as the three of them exchanged awkward looks, and finally it was Mulder who lost the silent wrestle and was elected spokesman.

"We'd like to ask you a question," Mulder said. "And we'd like you to answer it as honestly as you feel you can."

"Of course," Monica said, maintaining her air of calmness, which was completely contrary to the claws wrapped around her heart.

"Does this have anything to do with your father?"

It was not what Monica had been expecting, and she stared, stunned by the accusation.

Scully put a hand on Mulder's elbow and took over. "We just can't help wondering if this is a remedy to what you've lost. If, somehow, you're feeling that making this money will help in proving to him that you can make it alone, that your inheritance never mattered ..."

"You know it's okay if it is," John interrupted. "So long as you're honest with us."

But Monica still stared, and she felt her heart tear in two.

"Is that what you think?" she asked. "That this is a grab for cash and fame?"

"No, that's _not _what we think," John quickly retaliated. "You gave us your reasons and we understand them. It's just that ..."

"Just that what?" Monica said, and she heard the hard edge to her voice.

"That we can't help being worried," Scully said carefully.

Mulder gently began, "We know how your father -"

"_First _of all," Monica interrupted, feeling fury spring up from nowhere as it had come to do over the past week, "he's _not _my father. Neither of them are _any _relations of mine and they had _nothing _to do with creating me. And I don't want to hear anyone calling them by those references, or indeed making reference to them at all. As from right now they don't exist and as far as I'm concerned they never did."

All three of them fell silent, but Monica ploughed on.

"And _second _of all, I'd appreciate it if _you _could be honest with _me_. If you can't take doing an interview, just say so. Don't come back in here and launch accusations of me being a some kind of greedy, money-hungry bitch who's just bullying you into -"

"That's _not _what we said," Scully protested firmly, eyes widening.

There was a momentary silence, and the tension in the air prickled.

"That's what I heard," Monica said quietly.

Scully's folded arms fell and a look of heartache erupted on her face. "Monica ..."

"I understand," Monica said, struggling to keep her voice from breaking. "You can't do it, and that's okay. I'll do it on my own."

Without another word, Monica turned on her heels and walked quickly around them and to the back of the house.

She heard John shout, "Monica!" and then Mulder's hurried voice, "Let her go, let her calm down."

And in the back bedroom Monica snatched up her towel and a few other items and marched for the shower, slamming the bathroom door just hard enough to make sure that none of them would come after her. But as soon as she twisted the metal lock, she paused, chest heaving, straining her ears to her what they would do. There was silence for a while, and then she heard Scully sigh - a sigh that indicated she was on the verge of tears - and say, "I'm gonna call my Mom. I need to talk to Charlie" and Monica heard her open the door and go out onto the verandah.

And somehow, as much as Monica didn't want them to come after her, the fact that they didn't only tore her further. For they were all she had. John had a close family to lean on when he needed support - a Mom, Dad and sister who would all hug him and love him as much as he wanted. Dana had the same. And even Mulder had Reg and Clare to go to. Whereas Monica had no one, no one whom she could approach for a soothing hug, no parent figure who would hold her and invite her to tell them everything ...

No one.

And in the bathroom, Monica sank against the door, held her head in her hands, and struggled not to cry.

XXX

It was a full hour before she dared to leave the sanctuary of the bathroom and venture back into the main house. It had been quiet for a while now. She had heard Scully return from the verandah after nearly three quarters of an hour on the phone - most of it, Monica guessed, talking through things with Charlie - and then Monica heard Reg and Clare drop by, who soon disappeared with Mulder, and then John had taken the phone and gone outside as well. The house was silent, and Monica took a deep breath, and hoping her red eyes would not show too much, crept quietly back down the hall to the living room.

She saw Scully was in an armchair, legs curled under her, a pen and notebook in her lap. She looked up as Monica stood there, and Monica saw that she, too, showed signs of recent crying. Monica turned away again to put her things in the bedroom. She delayed there a little while to gather her courage again, and then another deep breath and returned to the living room where Scully's worried, hesitant blue eyes immediately reconnected with her.

Monica felt unbearably awkward and nervous, but she tried to stifle it.

"How do you feel?" she asked Scully, pausing with her hands on the back of the opposite armchair.

"I feel fine," Scully lied. "Mulder's gone down to the beach with Reg and Clare and John's outside talking to his Mom on the phone. And ..."

She trailed off, running out of news to report, and then the facade fell, and she looked up at Monica with the most heart-wrenching apologetic look Monica had ever seen on her.

"We never meant to hurt you," Scully said, and fresh tears sprung to her eyes. "It was just such a surprise. And you know Mulder's worried about what it'd do to you, and you know John's nature, he's -"

"I do," Monica said calmly. "I know John."

Scully fell quiet again, and Monica felt tears spring to her own eyes. She swallowed, unable to take it any more.

"I'm sorry," she said, tears slipping down her cheeks. "I ..."

"No, we're sorry," Scully said, setting her notebook and pen aside and getting to her feet. "We didn't realise it meant this much to you."

And then Scully was hugging her, and the majority of Monica's pain immediately fell away again as she felt Scully's warm arms wrapped around her shoulders and heard Scully sniff against her ear.

"We want to do our best to support you," Scully said, pulling away and looking into her eyes. "And if this is what you really need to do ..."

"But it's not what you want," Monica replied, feeling the surge of disappointed erupt again inside her. "And I know that goes for Mulder and John too."

It was as if the knife had been taken to her heart again, because Scully could not deny a fact they both knew to be true.

"We'll go to Washington," Scully replied eventually, "and when we get there we'll ask AD Cassidy what's on offer. I mean, we can't guarantee anything, it's still a huge decision, but we'll at least get more of an idea of what we'd be dealing with."

Monica knew how generous it was, considering they were all so adamantly against it in their hearts.

"Thank you," Monica replied sincerely.

Scully squeezed her arm, and then took a deep breath and recovered her professional demeanour.

"You should eat something," she said, turning for the kitchen. "You need to keep your strength up if you're going to get well."

Monica was happy to let Scully look after her, and obediently sat down on the couch as Scully went to heat up some food.

"Would you like a game?" Monica called, knowing that probably both John and Mulder would be a while and she wanted to cheer Scully up if she could.

"Sure," Scully said, making an effort to match Monica's forgive and forget cheerfulness. "You want Scrabble?"

"No," Monica said, crossing to the box. "I was actually thinking of chess."

Monica was not a fan of chess, but if it would cheer Scully up again, it would make them both feel a lot better. And to feel better was a desirable feeling that was still, even now, completing eluding her. For despite Scully's compromise, Monica still could not help feeling painfully depressed. Mulder was walking the beach with Reg and Clare, John was locked into a deep conversation with his mother, Scully had talked for nearly an hour with her own family ... and Monica had no one to call her up and enquire after her, no mother to confess everything to ... no need to ever use a phone again when there was simply no one in the world she could call.

She felt a soft hand in her hair; Scully was leaning over the back of the couch. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Monica lied cheerfully. "I'm fine."

XXX

It was a flat, depressing, slow moving day, tainted by the disagreement of that morning which never seemed to completely clear, and hung over Monica's head like an impending thunderstorm that she could not shake off. It had been another hour before John had come back into the house, phone in hand, tears streaming down his face. His eyes found Monica, who was still playing a slow game of chess with Scully and was sprawled horizontal across the couch, and he said, "You're okay?" and Monica lied yet again that she was fine. It was bad enough that she felt so depressed, but to let her friends go on feeling so messed up would only make her feel even worse, and she couldn't bear to see it. And he had been relieved then, taken in by the easy smile she gave him and he rushed to her side and kissed her hard on the mouth and dragged her up into a fierce hug that Monica returned with calm strokes across his back. They did not need to discuss what had happened, it would be pointless. She felt the strength of his apology in his hug, and an uncomfortable part of her wondered whether it had been her friends' fault at all. Perhaps, as all the doctors had said, she was simply being short-tempered and emotionally messed up because of what had happened to her. And if so, apologies were not needed, as it would happen to them all at least a thousand times before the long path of their trauma was over and it was the nature of their friendship that they were so close and understood each other so well.

Mulder did not return for a long while, but they were all okay with this. It had been Monica's suggestion, after all, that he take time with Reg and Clare, and so it wasn't until lunchtime that he reappeared. When he did, he looked calm, happy and at ease again, and like he had already forgotten there had ever been any tension between them earlier in the morning. He kissed Scully, who looked up from the chess board only long enough to check how he was before returning her attention to the epic game she was sharing with Monica. And then he went in search of something to eat, before returning and sitting down with them.

"How was it?" John asked. "You get some quality time?"

Mulder nodded. "It was good to see them. It's been a long while since I was last here. A lot has happened."

"Did you want to go back?" Scully asked, lifting her eyes from the board as she waited for Monica to move. "Spend the afternoon with them?"

"No," he said, shaking his head and taking her hand. "I'm all right now."

Monica had the strong feeling she was missing something, but from the looks on John and Dana's faces, chose to let it go.

"When did you want to leave?" Scully asked, looking around at everyone. "Did you want to stay another few days, or leave tomorrow, or -"

"Tonight," Mulder answered.

Monica's attention had been absorbed in preventing a total slaughter of her army that Scully was ready to launch on her next move, but she looked up.

"That soon?" she asked. "You don't want to relax, spend some more time here?"

"I don't think it'd be wise," he said, shaking his head.

Again, Monica had the strong feeling she was missing something - something that had clearly happened whilst she was cooling off in the shower earlier. And, as she looked at Mulder's face, she saw in his eyes that he was worried. _Really _worried, and in a flash she understood exactly why he was pushing the schedule, because he had come to the same conclusions that Monica had come to earlier on. John and Scully needed to get back to their families, and the way both of them had cried openly and spent such long phone calls with their families clearly showed their fragile states. And there was the fact, too, that Monica knew that if they allowed themselves to stay, they might get too comfortable and it would become harder and harder to force themselves to leave again to face the world. It was better to bite the bullet, to get John and Scully on the road to improving their mental health, and the first step was a drive back to Washington to reunite them with their relatives, where they could enjoy their constant support again.

"We can sneak out when it's dark, be at Scully's Mom's house before sunrise," Mulder added.

"Then we'd better call your family," Monica said to John. "Arrange for them to meet us there."

"There's no need," Scully said. "My mom's taken in John's parents. They're staying in the room Bill and Tara were using. Now they've flown back to San Diego, she invited them to stay with her. It saves them a lot of money on the motel room they were renting and gives her some company as well."

"They were spending all their time together anyway," John said. "It'll be more comfortable for them, supporting each other."

"Well what about Charlie?" Monica asked. "Isn't he staying with your mom?"

"He's still at my place, with Christi," John said casually.

Monica felt a flicker of intrigue, but John and Scully both looked completely oblivious, and obviously thought their siblings were nothing more than good friends. But Monica had seen the way they looked at each other, saw the hidden, wistful looks, had seen Charlie's obvious appreciation for Christi's stunning figure. But if John and Dana chose not to see it, Monica saw no reason to comment.

"We'd have to arrive in Washington well before six," Scully said. "That should minimise the risk of the media catching on, and means we'll get there when it's still quite dark."

It seemed agreed, and as the afternoon wore on through more games of pool, chess, Scrabble, and even a long, particularly playful game of Monopoly from Mulder, Monica saw how both John and Scully became more cheerful. The imminent return to their families had lifted their moods, and in turn lifted Mulder's, and Monica tried to play along, but in her heart she could not help feeling depressed by her own lack of family, and no matter how hard she fought the jealousy reigned stronger than ever. She did not rememember everything that had happened on the night her parents left her, but she did remember scraps of how kind Anne had been, her gentle touching and hugging, her professionalism as a nurse in helping Monica on the toilet, her asking Monica to just give her a chance - a plea that Monica had answered with silence that now pierced her heart with guilt. She had treated them like dirt, had rejected their advances, and now Monica was apprehensive about how they would feel about her when they met again.

But, as the sunset approached, as dinner came around and Scully slipped back into doctor mode and checked Monica's low blood pressure, she could see they were all cheerful.

And Monica was not going to be the one to ruin the mood.

XXX

The night air was so cold it almost stung. Of course, the icy wind blowing in off the sea did not help matters, causing Monica's loose hair to constantly whip her in the face and eyes as she went to drop her bag in the trunk of the Bureau fleet car. But there was also a magic to nighttime travelling that Monica appreciated. The dead of the night was when everything was so still, deserted and silent, and the human race went to bed while the glorious spread of stars and all kinds of other night creatures came to the forefront. It was a peaceful feeling to stand there and stack the bags as each of her friends came to join her at the trunk, swinging in their loads.

"Is there much more?" Monica asked, leaning in and pushing John's bag into a spare corner.

"No, I think that's it," John said, looking up to the house as Mulder locked the door and came over to them with his bag in his hand.

"Did you get everything you need?" Scully asked him.

"Yeah," he replied, allowing Monica to take his bag for him. "I found the photo album buried in a cupboard, I'm bringing it with us."

Monica finished arranging all their things and shut the lid of the trunk. As she did her eyes caught the now silent and sleeping house over Mulder's shoulder, and the reality of what they were doing - leaving to tackle the world again - made her queasy.

"You all right?"

John's strong arm wrapped itself around her shoulders and in the moonlight his eyes looked into hers.

"I guess I'm just wishing we could've stayed longer," Monica confessed. "Going back, it's going to get a lot harder before it gets easier."

"We can't hide here forever," John said.

"We'll be back," Mulder said, standing on her other side so that the four of them were in a circle again. "When things settle and we're feeling stronger we'll come to spend several weeks here. We'll just hang around, sit on the beach, play pool, make love ..."

Monica smiled, catching the twinkle in Mulder's eye at her and John's behaviour. Monica slipped her arm around John's waist and squeezed and he in turn was unable to resist dropping an affectionate kiss on her cheek. They had been at it again earlier that evening.

"It _is _a lot to face in going back," Mulder said, now looping his arm around Scully's shoulders and drawing her in closer. "Especially to Washington. But we're going to make it. We'll stick together, continue to be honest with each other, take advantage of your families' support, and we'll be okay. If we need counselling we'll admit to it, no fuss, and we'll have the courage to tell everyone what we need."

John and Scully both took deep breaths and nodded in agreement, but Monica remained silent. She had already told the others of her needs, but they had been unable to meet them. The three of them had agreed to ask Jana Cassidy about what the media had on offer, but she was under no illusions that this equalled a firm commitment. She knew they were only hoping to keep her happy for a little while longer, to buy time ...

"Are you all right, Monica?"

Scully's concerned voice broke her thoughts, and Monica broke free to see all three of them were staring at her.

"Just thinking," she replied, trying to be honest yet at the same time reassure. "I guess I'm just tired."

"You should get some sleep in the car," John said, giving her a squeeze. "You look worn out."

"Are you sure it isn't more than that?" Mulder asked, putting his large hand on her shoulder.

"No," Monica said, as everything flashed through her mind and the queasiness swirled. "After all, what have we got to be worried about?"

She turned away before they could reply, and went to the back door, letting herself in. She did not care if her words concerned them, if they talked about her behind her back. Part of her had simply had enough ... of everything.

XXX

Monica did not sleep, but she did close her eyes for the majority of the trip, saving her from having to respond to any more questions which would only increase her queasiness. She did not want to return to Washington, could happily leave her apartment and never even fetch her things. But John and Dana's families were there, Father McCue and 

Melissa's graves were there, and Monica did her best to disguise her real feelings and remain happy for John and Dana.

She could see they were both getting nervous as they approached the suburbs and came to be meandering through the tight inner city streets. It was nearly six o'clock, but being a Sunday, the streets were still empty, dark and silent. It had been raining in Washington, the roads were glistening under the streetlights, and Scully quietly drove along, leading them to her mother's house where everyone was waiting. But a hush did fall as they came further and further into the city, and the skyscrapers became visible and Monica felt the nucleus of the Hoover Building vibrating away in the centre. That ground zero for everything that had happened, the many dead agents and thousands of grieving others ...

God she wanted to get away, but she instead closed her eyes. She had to take it, to stifle the pain ... John and Dana were counting on her support.

"How are you managing?"

Mulder looked around from the front passenger seat. For a moment, Monica thought he was referring to John, who she could see was both excited and slightly nervous about the reunion. But then she realised his concern was directed toward her, and that it was being reflected in John's eyes, too, and in Dana's, who she could see studying her in the rearview mirror whenever she had the chance.

"I'm fine," Monica said, and she gave them one of her most persuasive smiles. She reached across and wrapped her fingers around John's. "I can tell you're looking forward to seeing them again, and that's all that matters."

"I can't deny that I am," John said, holding her hand warmly. "I know it might sound funny, but it's all easier to take when they're around."

"It _doesn't _sound funny," Monica said, squeezing his hand again. "You're close. Of course you want them around."

"We're nearly there," Scully reported, glancing quickly at them as she turned into another, smaller and narrower residential street.

"You know," Mulder said awkwardly, reaching to tap her on her knee, "if there _was _something wrong, you would tell us?"

"If there was, yes I would," Monica said, meeting his eyes evenly.

He held her eyes, but Monica did not give in and she held her ground, offering nothing. She had already told them what was wrong, and they had been unable to help. It was pointless to discuss it further.

But that was not the only thing, because as Scully drove the final few streets to her mother's place, Monica's thoughts turned again to those who were waiting for them. In particular, her thoughts went to Anne and Jack, who had both tried so hard to be kind to her, and whose kindness Monica had thrown back in their faces during her last hours at John's in Falls Church. She felt nervous about how they would receive her now. Would they be cold, like her own former parents? She tried to steady her nerves. If they were, that was fine. She could deal with that.

They arrived minutes later, Scully gliding the car to a stop outside a two storey house in a fairly classy area of Washington. Monica saw the porch light was off, and all the blinds were closed, but there was a warm glow around the edges of one of the curtains. Someone was up and awaiting their arrival. And as Monica gave John's hand another squeeze and reached for the door handle, she saw a hand grip the same curtain and Jack's face peer around it.

As the four of them got out the car, all glancing up and down the dark, wet street to check there were no reporters around, the front door opened, the porch light clicked on, and Mrs Scully led Anne, Jack, Charlie and Christi all hurrying out to meet them. All except Christi and Charlie were in their sleepwear and wearing dressing gowns over pyjamas.

"Mom," Scully said, rounding the front of the car and meeting her mother halfway.

"Dana ..."

Scully fell into her mother's waiting arms and the two hugged tight. Similarly, John was being hugged tight by Anne, and Jack was warmly greeting Mulder.

A pang of agony went straight to Monica's heart, watching the family bliss and knowing she had none of her own. Feeling an outsider, Monica picked up the keys where Scully had left them and went around to the trunk. She slid the key in the lock and swung it upwards. But as she reached for the first bag, a hand caught her arm.

"Hey," came Christi's kind voice, matched by a hand on Monica's back. "Put those down. Let me give you a hug."

Monica let go of the bag, but as she turned to face Christi's kind blue eyes the queasiness increased ten-fold. She really liked Christi, but she had really liked her own parents as well, and look where that had got her. She had to stay strong.

"What's the matter?"

Christi's worried blue eyes immediately narrowed, and her hand came up to cup Monica's cheek, studying her.

"Monica, what's wrong?"

The thousands of problems were all gathered in Monica's throat, but they were tangled together and she could not voice any of them. But she struggled to find another plausible excuse and the queasiness in her stomach increased another notch.

Christi's eyes softened, and she reached around Monica's shoulders and pulled her toward her.

"Let me give you a hug ..."

It was a warm, soft, gentle hug - and Monica was on the brink of being totally undone by Christi's warmth. She kissed Monica on the cheek, and then gently slipped back again. But when she did Monica found the same deeply concerned look staring back at her. Christi looked almost alarmed, but again, she quickly tried to hide it.

"My God, Monica, what's wrong?"

But Monica was saved from answering by the approach of Anne. Glancing past Christi, Monica saw Jack was now hugging John, Charlie was holding Dana, and Mrs Scully was greeting Mulder.

"What are you doing hiding back here?" Anne asked lightly, coming and wrapping her arms around Monica, pulling her toward her. Then, softly in Monica's ear, Anne added, "It's so good to have you back. We've all missed you."

Anne's hug was long and warm, and, just like with Christi, Monica felt the last of her defences break down by the kindness of it. And when Anne finally pulled back, lifting her hand to tuck back Monica's hair, Monica felt more dizzy, confused and more of a nervous wreck than ever.

Anne's hand stilled in Monica's hair, and her nurse's eyes were upon her.

"You don't look well at all," Anne said quietly, looking worried as she stroked back another few strands of Monica's hair.

Monica called up the last of her strength to pull herself together.

"I'm fine," Monica replied, giving her a smile. "I think I'm just a bit tired. I have a bit of a headache."

She could tell Anne didn't believe a word of it, but she was eternally grateful when she didn't make an obvious fuss, and when Monica turned to pick up a bag from the trunk, Anne only reached in to help her, taking one as well.

"Let me help you ..."

But as Monica turned to carry her load into the house, and as John rejoined her, took the bag from her shoulder, swooped to dispose a kiss on her cheek, and put his arm around her, Monica still felt everyone's concerned eyes on her. And the feeling of queasiness intensified.

XXX

It was obvious to Monica that the Scullys had class. Mrs Scully's home was impeccably clean, richly furnished, and absolutely covered in family photographs. On the way to dropping off their bags in the upstairs bedroom Mrs Scully offered them, Monica saw frames along the corridor walls that held endless photos of Mrs Scully's four children, her dead husband in his navy uniform, Bill and Tara's wedding photos, and also of Matthew and Lizzie, whose beaming smiles shone from every corner. The second feature of the home that Monica quickly noticed was the subtle presence of the Catholic religion - in a few religious poems that were perched in corners, in the different versions of the bible lined up on the bookshelf in the living room, and in the religious music CD collection Mrs Scully had stacked near her stereo.

It was the photos, however, that drew the most attention, as both John and Mulder were in a playful mood and could not resist pausing to stare at the pictures of Scully and Charlie in their childhood - a treat that Monica saw Scully could have happily foregone.

"Hey, I like this one," John said, pointing to a photo of Scully no older than three, sitting on the edge of the kitchen table in their cheap navy base housing, and beaming from behind cheeks and mouth that were smothered with chocolate icing.

"Liked the cake, did you, Scully?" Mulder teased.

"I was two years old, Mulder."

"Hey, now there's a classic ..."

Christi was on the next large frame and was pointing to a photo of Charlie as a boy, standing naked in a children's inflatable paddle pool, covered in dirt from head to toe and looking as though he was having the time of his life. In the background Scully was standing in a frilly pink bathing suit, no older than five.

"I keep telling Mom to take that one down," Charlie said, unimpressed, but still joking. "It's paedophilia."

"Nonsense," Anne said dismissively. "The world's getting too politically correct when you can't even take a photo of your own child."

"That's not the issue," Charlie said. "I just don't see why she couldn't have waited until I was wearing something instead of dashing out to take a snapshot and hanging it on the wall for the next forty years for everyone to gawk at."

"Don't listen to her," Christi said, smiling. "She's only saying that because she has whole shelves of albums of humiliating photos of us."

"She does?" Charlie asked, giving her a teasing smile. "You'll have to show us when we get to Atlanta."

Christi gave him a mock, stern look and bypassed the comment to move on to the next series of photos.

"You look stunning in this one, Dana," Christi said, indicating a photo of Scully at about age ten, wearing a deep blue dress that highlighted both her hair and eyes. "That colour's gorgeous on you ..."

"Aunt Josephine's wedding," Scully recalled, with a wistful, distant expression. "That was a good day."

It went on for a good ten or fifteen minutes before they finally ran out of frames and accompanying stories and moved downstairs again. Then Mrs Scully insisted on everyone eating a full breakfast, and produced a stack of fluffy pancakes along with other options of cereal, toast and fruit. Mulder, John, Charlie, Jack and Christi all tucked into the pancakes, whilst Scully went for cereal and Monica chose to nibble on some fruit. It was not like the casual sit around environment of John's place. The Scully family had class and naturally went to eat at the table, and everyone else played along to the host's rules. But during the whole morning meal, Monica still felt constant concern being fired at her from every direction. John and Scully were both in their element at being back again, and Mulder was happy simply because Scully was, but when any of them looked away for a second, Monica felt any of Charlie, Mrs Scully, Christi, Anne and Jack all giving her questioning looks, or else sneaking in a comforting touch on her shoulder when they walked past her chair, or putting their arms around her for no reason other than the fact she was within reach. And barely half an hour of breakfast had passed before Monica could not stand it anymore and found herself searching desperately for an opportunity to get away.

"Excuse me," Monica said politely, pushing out her chair at the long table and standing up to take her bowl to the kitchen.

She felt cascading relief when she made it out of the room without being questioned, and when she reached the peace and quiet of Mrs Scully's kitchen, she set the bowl down on the sink and then put her hands on the edge of the bench, closing her eyes. She tried to quash the continuous nausea and also to level her fluctuating emotions, but neither were paying any attention and they soared out of control as Monica clung with white fingers to the edge of the bench and blocked out all the laughter and jokes coming from the other room that only served to remind her yet again of how alone she was in having no family. John and Dana were so lucky. So, _so _lucky ...

A pair of gentle, motherly hands landed softly on her shoulders and they were accompanied by Anne's voice in her ear.

"Sweetheart, tell me what's wrong."

Monica felt her reserve finally shatter. She felt the familiar hot prickling behind her eyes and her heart seemed to skip a few beats.

"Come on, tell me what's wrong," Anne went on, gripping Monica a little tighter with one hand on her shoulder and another around her waist. "You've looked on the verge of collapse since you arrived."

"I'm fine," Monica choked, struggling to keep the prickling heat behind her eyes and not let it loose.

"No, don't say that," Anne said. "It's not helpful when everyone can see quite plainly that you're not."

Monica felt the first warm drop of saltwater slip out of her eye and slide quickly down her cheek. Her heart continued to beat faster.

"Please talk to me."

But Monica couldn't. Her heart rate continued to climb, and Monica felt a weakness suddenly accompany her queasiness until she wanted to vomit, faint, as well as bolt out of the front door and run far away from the smothering feel of death-ridden, grief polluted Washington.

Anne held her tighter in her warm embrace. "Come on, sweetheart. Please talk to -"

"I don't feel well," Monica interrupted quietly, more hot tears fighting their way out and lighting trails of fire down her cheeks.

"Mentally unwell or physically unwell?"

The question put Monica's mind in a muddle. Either, both? Her legs felt suddenly weak, she felt her knees rapidly losing their strength and her vision becoming spotty, that old sensation of her vision becoming a television out of tune ...

Anne pressed her hand to Monica's forehead, and then her fingers to her wet cheeks.

"Sit down before you faint," Anne ordered kindly. She pulled Monica's hands from where they were clamped onto the bench. "Come on, just sit right here on the floor before you fall and hurt yourself."

Monica's legs were already sinking in that direction anyway, and she had no choice but to let Anne take control and lower her to the floor. Monica twisted around so she was sitting leaning against the wooden kitchen cupboards. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, struggling to get control.

Anne continued to hold onto her. "Are you going to be sick?"

Monica struggled to hold down the nausea, swallowing it several times to keep it from inching up her throat.

"I don't know," she finally gasped.

"Tell me if you are," Anne said, "and I can help you to the bathroom."

"No," Monica said, swallowing hard again as the vision of having to walk past the whole dining room people leapt unpleasantly into her mind. "I think I'm okay ..."

"Are you sure?" Anne asked firmly, hand on Monica's forehead again. "We can get Charlie to carry you there if you're feeling too weak."

"No, I'm fine."

Anne stood up for a moment and Monica heard the tear of paper towel followed a quick rinse under the tap. Then she crouched back down and put the folded, cool, damp towel to Monica's forehead. She held it there for her and Monica felt the cold water drip wonderfully down over her hot skin.

"When was the last time you took your medication?" Anne asked gently. "Have you been taking it? It's supposed to stop this."

Monica needed a few seconds before she could gather the strength to even think, and then she struggled to piece together all the painful memories of the previous few days. But _had _she taken her medication? Her meals had not been to a regular timetable, but snatched when time allowed. She could recall eating - remembered Mrs Scully's delicious soup, pieces of fresh fruit, some cereal Scully had forced her to finish - but she not recall seeing the bottles of medication for days. Not since ...

"I took it last at John's," Monica confessed. "I can't remember everything, just bits and pieces, but I think someone made me swallow it."

"That was us," came Christi's concerned voice, and Monica opened her eyes to see Christi crouching down beside her mother. How long had she been there, listening in?

"Can you do me a favour and go get it?" Anne asked her, and Christi quickly nodded and got up again. "And Christi?"

Christi turned around in the doorway.

"Don't let anyone in."

Christi nodded again, and then hurried away.

Anne squeezed Monica's shoulder again, and calmly readjusted the damp towel on Monica's forehead, turning it over to find a fresh side of coolness. Monica's mind, however, was busy turning over the events of the last few days and feeling guilty for the answer she had to give. She was thirty-three years old, she thought. An adult. Taking medication with her meals should not have been beyond her ability.

"I'm sorry," Monica said.

"No, don't apologise," Anne said calmly, pushing back Monica's hair in a loving, motherly fashion. "We're here to take care of you."

Monica tried to relax, but it would not come. Though she was mastering the nausea, her messy emotions were still rioting and she still felt a whole dam of hot tears burning behind her eyes and a quivering in her stomach which had nothing to do with her physical state.

It was only seconds before Christi hurried back into the room clutching the box of antidepressants and bottle of anti-nausea pills. She reached up and snatched a glass off one of the high shelves, filled it with tap water, and then crouched back down beside them.

"Here you are," Christi said, passing the water and a nausea pill to her. "Swallow it down."

Monica had to force herself to do it, and when she gripped the glass and went to raise it, she was a little scared to see her hand was shaking. Anne reached out and held it for her, helping her drink, and Monica swallowed the small pill. Christi deposited the used glass back on the sink and then sat back down with them, gripping Monica's hand gently in her own.

"Would you like to talk?"

Monica shook her head. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine," Anne proceeded gently. "And I really think you _do _need to talk. Talk to us about what it is that's bothering you."

But Monica held silent. She could not possibly tell them what was bothering her.

"Is it the interview?" Christi asked. "John told us you want to sell the story, that you had an argument."

Monica met Christi's eyes, wondering if there was judgement there, but she found only love and concern in the blue depths.

"Is that what it is?" Anne asked gently, stroking back her hair again.

Monica could not bring herself to answer.

"Just give them time to get used to the idea," Christi advised. "I think they'll come round eventually."

_Eventually_, Monica thought, her heart sinking again. It still did not take away the pain that they had not been able to help her, even though they knew how important it was to her. _Eventually _...

"Please talk to us," Anne pleaded. "Monica, we want to help, but you have to tell us whatever it is that you're feeling. Now if it's the interview or the disagreement you had, you know it's going to be all right. Feeling these kinds of high, intense emotions is all a normal part of trauma. You can't expect to go through all this and not share an argument at some stage or another. It doesn't mean you love each other any less."

"It's not that," Monica said, and was almost surprised to find that it was the truth. Their arguing was to be expected, they were all so strung out. The fight was just the tip of a very large, Atlantic-sized iceberg.

"Then what is it?" Christi prompted gently, searching her eyes.

But still Monica struggled to figure that one out for herself, and she could not reply, even though the feeling of anguish in her heart intensified unbearably, like someone had gripped her heart and twisted it around 180 degrees, and yet she could not pin down why.

"Is it your period?" Anne asked. "Are you worried?"

Monica looked up at Anne. _She had heard?_

"John told me," Anne said calmly. "It terrified him. He wanted my medical opinion."

"I'm not worried," Monica replied. "Dana said it's normal for the weight I've lost."

"She's right," Anne confirmed. "But if it is bothering you, we can easily get it checked."

"It's not."

There was a slight pause.

"Monica, please try to tell us what's bothering you," Christi pleaded. "It breaks our hearts to see you like this, and we want to help, but we need to know how, what it is that you need. Just try to talk to us, no matter how silly you think it might sound, no matter how much you think it mightn't make any sense. Or if you like we can get on the phone right now and call a doctor if you'd rather talk with a professional. Just please let us help you, somehow."

"Tell us what it is, Monica," Anne echoed. "_Whatever _it is."

But still Monica tried to pin down what it was, and the answer eluded her. And then, as she tried to put her brain to the task, she realised that it was not a single event. It was not the fight, it was not one simple thing, but a whole feeling of heaviness that went all the way back to the Canadian Rockies. She let her eyes fall closed and she could still see the endless snow, see the tears of all her friends, see the dead bodies, the blood, the broken bones and exposed internal organs. She saw Holly's stiff body that she had hugged only a short time before her death. She could still feel Kim in her arms as she farewelled her and Skinner before that fatal trip, when Kim had assured her they would be okay, they would bring help, only for Monica to find her dead so shortly after. It was an inextinguishable anguish, the utter pain of hindsight, how she wished she had grabbed them both and thrown them back into the plane. If only she'd known that blizzard was coming, if only Kim had never stepped near that slippery rock. And then she still heard the gunshot fired by Brad, and still felt the agony of the loneliness the four of them felt after everyone else had perished, and they were left walking the snowy peaks, knowing they would die up there and Monica only hoping she would be not be last, not be left alone ... and then the media, her former parents' desertion, her sexual relationship with John which they both poured everything into and yet never the pain at bay for quite long enough. She felt the jealousy that she was not the daughter of Anne and Jack, or of Mrs Scully, that Christi was not her sister and Charlie not her brother. She wished Matthew and Lizzie were her niece and nephew, that she could look upon those gorgeous two children, knowing they shared her genes and dote upon them all their lives. She could do none of those things, and she was alone. She would forever be on that mountain in Canada, and because of her lack of family, could never have anyone who could help her off it again. She would die on that mountain, die with Kim, Holly, Brad, Skinner ... die with all those who had screamed from their own pools of gushing blood. And she would belong. There she would find company, find those who understood, find a home.

XXX

**_Chapter 54 - Twenty Hours Later_**

The bright red digital clock on the bedstand read 2:16am, and Anne fell back against the soft mattress and sighed. She had not been able to sleep well for weeks now. Her mind was unable to rest for more than a few hours, and then the pain and all their worries would intensify until her brain finally woke her. Of course, it was not that way all the time. Sometimes she woke simply as she had come to do as she had got older. She slept less now than she did ten years ago. And many other times since hearing the dreadful news of the initial plane crash, it had been Jack who had accidentally woken her with his own restlessness and inability to settle. Several nights they had simply laid awake together for hours, being company for each other in their fears. But none of that was the case this time, and looking at the clock as it ticked over to 2:17am, Anne wondered why she had woken. For Jack was still fast asleep beside her, the house was silent, and she did not feel the kind of tension and stress that woke her up.

It had been a stressful day, of course. It had been brilliant to have John back again, and Mulder, Dana and Monica. But Monica had worried her. Her physical illness was fixable. They had agreed to watch her weight and blood pressure, and she was confident they could sit down and figure her out a vegetarian diet she could manage which would be nutritious and also help her gain strength and weight. But that morning when Monica had cried in the kitchen, she never had found out what was wrong, and had got the feeling that Monica was not even sure herself. She had concluded, therefore, that it was nothing specific but a very understandable general depression, for which Anne knew well from John's own experiences and the loss of Luke that the only remedy was often a warm hug. But Monica had not seemed comfortable with being hugged, either, and though she had let everyone hug her, she did not really settle in anyone's arms except John's. It hurt Anne, as she truly loved Monica and wanted to help, but she understood what 

Monica was doing. She knew they had to expect that Monica would be scared of getting hurt again, given what her parents had done, and so it would be a long process of proving themselves to her and earning her trust.

Wide awake now, Anne finally surrendered to her sleeplessness and she pushed back the covers, putting her feet to the soft carpet and tiptoeing to the bedroom door. It would not hurt to check on them, make sure the four of them were okay.

One of the hallway lights was on and Anne quietly made her way down the softly lit corridor. It was not cold, as Maggie had the left the central heating on to keep their children warm and prevent them getting sick. Reaching the partially closed door, Anne paused for a moment, but she did not hear any sound at all, certainly nothing to indicate she would be interrupting anything, and she put her hand to the door and silently pushed it open a little - enough to look around.

Her heart immediately jarred.

There were two single beds on opposite walls - the home of Matthew and Lizzie when they came to stay. One of the beds was occupied by Mulder and Dana, who were tucked up together and fast asleep. The other was occupied by John, who was spread out - and alone.

Where was Monica?

For a moment Anne wondered whether her ageing eyes were playing games on her, and she tiptoed silently into the bedroom and crept closer. But yes, John was definitely alone, and in the other bed, there was only Mulder and Dana. Even in the dark, Dana's red hair made her easily identifiable.

Her heart leapt into her throat.

Monica. Where was Monica?

She hurried out of the room and opened the door across the hall to the bathroom. The light was off and she clicked it on to find the spotless bathroom perfectly empty. Switching the light off again, she hurried to the stairs and jogged down them to the living room. It was completely dark, and Anne had to think for where the light was and then feel her way over before she was able to switch it on. But that room, too, was deserted. Scared now, heart pounding with a fear that had come eight years ago and never yet left her, Anne jogged to the kitchen. But she found no one, and when she checked the laundry, downstairs bathroom, and study, she found no signs of life.

"Anne?"

Anne looked up the stairs to see Maggie Scully coming down them, dressed in her dark red satin pyjamas, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

"Is everything all right?"

Anne did not stop to talk, but hauled aside the curtains that shielded the sliding door to Maggie's backyard and patio.

"I can't find Monica."

Instantly Maggie looked awake. Her eyes widened as she hurried in another direction, checking rooms Anne had already checked. Anne twisted the key sitting in the sliding door and slid it open, allowing the light from the living room to be enough to see around the back patio and barbeque. She stepped out onto the pavers as the icy winter air gushed at her, double checking around the flower bushes and shadows near the fence, but there was nothing.

"Mom!"

She spun around to see John, Dana and Mulder all in a full thunder down the stairs. Maggie had woken them. Jack was also pulling on his dressing gown and hurrying to meet them.

"She's not here," Anne said, and the lack of all other places to look now held her still in her spot. The adrenaline pounded but she had searched everywhere. Where would Monica be? Where would she go?

Jack took control. He pointed at John and Mulder. "You check again upstairs, I'll go check the street, Maggie double check the garden, you know the layout ..."

Anne switched with Maggie and jogged after Jack, going with him to the street as John and Mulder dashed upstairs and Dana darted through the ground floor rooms, double checking, throwing open doors and cupboards, checking around furniture.

Jack threw the front door open, switched the porch light on and the two of them ran out into the winter night, under the streetlights that glowed eerily in the deadly silence.

"The car's gone."

Anne was still. Her fear held her completely now, but Jack was in full flight as he ran fast into the house. Anne followed in time to see everyone coming back from their search.

"Your car's gone," Jack said briskly.

"Where would she have gone?" Maggie asked, eyes wide and confused.

"I'll call Christi," Mulder said, and went quickly for the phone. "Maybe they're with her."

But Anne doubted it. She had been here before, clinging to slim hopes, and that had ended in Luke's dead body. Suddenly she was unable to move as the whole horror swarmed back into her life.

She stared at John.

"When did you last see her? Do you know when she left?"

"I don't know," he said awkwardly, looking as terrified as Anne felt. "I've been asleep all night. It could've been anytime."

"We can't panic," Scully said, trying to put on a brave face. "When she was gone from the beach house she had just left to think somewhere. That's all she's doing now. She's just gone somewhere quiet ..."

"She could've stayed here for that," Anne said, fear surging uncontrollably.

"Christi and Charlie haven't seen her," Mulder reported quickly, hurrying back into the room. "But they're on their way."

"Could she have gone to her apartment?" Jack asked them. "Picked up some clothes or something?"

"She doesn't have a cell phone, does she?" Maggie asked.

"No," Scully answered. "They were left on the mountain. We haven't yet been issued with new ones."

"Call her apartment," John said, bursting out of his shock and surging around Mulder for the phone. "If she's anywhere, it'll be there."

Mulder and Dana went with him, and Anne followed with Jack and Maggie as well. They all stood hopefully around the phone, praying with all their might that Monica would pick up the phone and say they were silly for worrying, that she had needed fresh clothes, or else forgotten something ...

It was five rings. Six rings. Eight rings ...

Anne felt Jack grip her arm, but she could not respond. She could see Dana could hardly breathe; Maggie was holding her, Mulder was leaned over the phone with John, listening as it rang on and on ...

Her heart jarred again as she heard the answering machine click on.

"Hi, this is Monica Reyes ..."

"Monica, if you're there, pick up," John said desperately, crying into his words. "Just let us know you're okay ... _Pick up_, Monica ... "

"She's not there," Mulder said softly. "She hasn't gone there."

"What do we do?" Maggie asked, terrified.

There was a momentary, deadly silence. Anne knew what the next step was, but she did not want to say it, did not want to have to live the nightmare again. She saw the same thing in John's eyes, and she reached for him.

Jack gently pried the phone from his hands.

"Let's call Jana."

"She's not," John said desperately, tears falling. "She'd never ..."

Anne could not reply. She was sure they would never have thought the same thing about Holly or Brad Follmer, either.

John looked desperately to Dana and Mulder.

"She's thinkin' somewhere ... time out ... space ..."

But neither of them could reply either.

On the phone there was a click, and Jana answered.

XXX


	26. Chapter 26

_Thanks to Daisyz for sending in feedback on the last chapter!_

* * *

**Chapter 55 - Task Force Monica**

Half an hour later and the group were screeching their way around the dark, dungeon FBI car park, and as Mulder swung the car into their allocated space, Scully leapt out before he'd even turned off the ignition, slamming the heavy door behind her and standing back just in time to avoid being run down by John as he swung his own car in next to them, slamming on the brakes and headlights clearing the concrete wall by less than an inch. Scully was already jogging to the back of the car, simultaneously digging in her pocket for her access pass that would open the security door to the interior of the building, and she glanced impatiently over her shoulder as everyone came to join her.

"What room did she say to meet in?" John asked his father, jogging to meet Scully and Mulder. "Do you remember?"

"Illura Theatre," Jack replied, gripping his son's elbow as Christi came up on John's other side, Anne behind.

Scully was on the point of resuming their rush for the door, but stopped where she was.

"No, that can't be right," she said, looking at Jack. "That's the Press theatre, operations are run from upstairs."

"Are you sure?" Mulder echoed, eyes narrowed.

"Positive," Jack said, keen eyes spotting the door and turning to head for it.

There was no time to argue, they had wasted so much time as it was in their drive from Scully's Mom's house, and they didn't even know for how long Monica had been missing. They had gone to bed early that evening, and Scully's last memory of seeing Monica had been around nine o'clock, when she had been tucking herself in between Mulder and the wall behind her, and she had looked over his chest to see Monica and John snuggling into each other. It was entirely plausible that Monica could have snuck off again as soon as the household had fallen asleep. She could have been gone for up to five hours already. The thought terrified her and her heart was beating so irregularly with panic she had to consciously try to steady it so she wouldn't faint to the floor like a sack of spuds. She felt grateful for Charlie's strong hand on her shoulder.

She flashed her access pass at the sensor and the door clicked, allowing them entry. Scully and Mulder led the crowd past the silent security guards, through the cold, echoing concrete corridors to the elevators. Mulder punched the button impatiently, but when nothing chimed, Scully turned on her heels and went for the stairs, not even able to spare a second wasting time waiting for technology. No one argued, but as Scully ran as hard as she could up the stairs, she felt impatience for her own weakness. Only a month before she could have jogged all the way to the stop without stopping, and now she felt tired after only a single flight. But she persevered, Mulder and John next to her, and soon they were at the next floor, and Scully swung open the heavy fire door and emerged into the dimly lit FBI building.

It never ceased to feel slightly eerie walking through the Hoover building at night, being the only person walking through the sleeping corridors, navigating by the few emergency lights that remained on between midnight and five in the morning. But as Scully hurried along the corridors and they came closer to the Illura Theatre, it soon became evident that they were not the only ones who were stalking the corridors at these hibernation hours. There was a heavy murmur of urgent voices echoing off the walls ahead, and then she turned another corner and emerged into the corridor outside the theatre door that was brightly lit from end to end. From the opposite end of the long stretch, Scully saw several field agents also hurrying for the door, summoned out of bed by Jana, and Scully's heart panged as she recognised one of them as Holly's best friend Stacie, an agent from the communications unit, powerwalking toward the door, pulling on a navy blue FBI windbreaker and then pinning her badge to its front. Attention focused on pinning the badge without piercing herself, she did not see them and hurried through the door.

"Sounds like she's gathered a task force," John said unnecessarily, as two male agents from behavioural science appeared marching toward them. Their faces tremored with sympathy when Scully briefly met their eyes, and Scully knew the news on why they were getting called out of bed, away from partners and children, was already broken.

"Sounds more like an army," Mulder replied, as the buzz became louder and thicker.

And then they finally reached the open double doors, and Scully stopped in her tracks as the force of the sight nearly knocked her flat.

It _was _an army. The theatre had no less than three hundred agents already gathered, some sitting in the rows of seats with notebooks already on their laps, other teams standing in circles in the aisles, the SACs of all the major investigative units gathered up the front on the stage with AD Jana Cassidy and Deputy Director Kersh, standing in front of the huge FBI seal on the wall, supported by the American flag opposite. It was clear why Jana had named the Illura theatre as their meeting point, as none of the meeting rooms upstairs had been designed with this scale of task force in mind. Scully had served on several task forces, and none in her memory had had more than about forty agents. The sheer numbers Jana commanded was unprecedented, and Scully could not imagine such a force being gathered even for the president himself, and certainly never in the space of half an hour.

Other things quickly grabbed her attention. First of all was the fact that the room was evidently preparing for a full scale search of Washington. Nearly every agent in the room was wearing or pulling on an FBI windbreaker. As she glanced around she saw one young agent emerge with an armful of jackets for those who had not brought their own with them, and the agent's SAC immediately took them from him and tossed them to those who did not have one. Second to grab her attention was some of the prominent faces in the crowd. Holly's friend Stacie was not the only mourner who had dashed to their aid. Agent Haynes, a friend of Monica's up from the New Orleans office, who had hugged her their first time back in the Hoover building, was also running through the crowd, a stack of paper and pens in his hands, handing them out to his colleagues. Then there were Kim and Holly's other mutual friends, the circle of young women who frequently went out on Friday nights, who Scully had encountered giggling in bathrooms and kitchens all through the building. None of them were giggling now. One of them, Agent Lauren Garnier, had red rings around her eyes. She looked like she hadn't caught a second of sleep for the whole last month. And there were so many others, too. In fact, the more Scully studied those present, the more she realised that everyone there had been a friend of at least one of the dead, and in a flash she understood that it was this which had caused them to be so willing to help now. The burning desire to help, to stem the flow of blood that had already stained the ranks of the FBI. Amongst the crowd, Scully spotted many agents wearing black ribbons. Some of the younger female agents had them threaded in their hair, many men had them tied around their wrists, others around their biceps or pinned to the front of their clothing. She suddenly noticed, as she hadn't before, that both Kersh and Jana Cassidy were also wearing them. In Jana's case, Scully knew one of those she was mourning was Skinner, whom she had been close friends with for nearly thirty years.

"Shit," John breathed.

Scully felt Charlie's hands on her shoulders, steering her to the right out of the way of the doorway. She let him lead her, but did not tear her attention from the history-making sight before her.

"I take it this isn't normal?" Jack asked quietly.

"A normal task force is about thirty," Mulder replied, when John, like Scully, was too busy being awed. "When Reggie and I caught John Barnett in '89 we broke the budget on fifty. He'd shot seven people and we had to fight all the way to the top to get even that many agents."

"This is unprecedented," Scully informed them quietly, breaking her reverie.

"People from every division," John chimed in, staring around. "Violent Crimes, Behavioural Science, Cyber Crime, Communications, Terrorism, Child Abduction ... I've never even seen them in the same room together."

"Gareth Stevens," Mulder observed, nodding at a large man across the room, and Scully followed the nod and felt another wave of breathlessness as she saw the legendary profiler talking with SAC Hodge of the New Orleans office.

"About the best profiler in history," John said to Christi, in response to her blank look. "He commands his own salary, picks and chooses his cases, answers to no one. A good ninety percent of the worst killers of the last forty years were caught thanks to him. I dunno why he's here."

"Same reason as everyone else," Charlie suggested. "He probably can't stand to see any more innocent people die around him."

Scully, like everyone else who worked in the Hoover building, knew Gareth Stevens' reputation very well. He was a brilliant man, had an IQ not even Scully would think of meddling with, but he was also short-tempered, enormously impatient with budgets, meetings, and paperwork, and though he had a desk allocated to him he was lucky to see it once a year. He was famous for walking out of meetings and conferences, his catchphrase being, "For God's sake, if you wanna cuff someone you've gotta get off your ass and get out there. Do you think they're gonna come to you?" But his results were unparalleled, and though he was unconventional, there were few people in the Bureau for whom Scully had more respect, and for whom she would love the opportunity to work with. He had even been on several overseas postings, assisting in the UK, Germany and Italy, and the fact that he chose to be there with them now, and was in the centre of a crowd of agents, hurling instructions and getting everyone organised touched Scully deeply.

"We should sit down," Margaret suggested, tugging on Scully's elbow, as hoards of agents began to spot them standing there and were staring in curiosity and heartbreaking sympathy for what they were going through.

"Sit down here," Agent Nguyen invited, leaping up from his position in the back row.

"Thank you," Margaret said.

Scully let her mother lead her to the back row, and everyone else followed.

"We'll find her, Agent Scully," Agent Nguyen assured her fervently, before turning to rejoin his division of cyber crime.

"Thank God, you're here," came Jana's voice, and Scully looked up to the end of the aisle where they had tried to invisibly sit themselves, and saw her standing with her hand on John's shoulder. She had clearly dressed in a hurry, looking casual in jeans and an FBI windbreaker, but her urgent aura commanded authority nonetheless.

"We're going to get going in a second, but first I need your authority to search your residences. Do we have it?"

"Of course," Scully said, speaking for everyone.

"We just want to find her quick," Mulder answered, voice nearly breaking. "We don't care what it takes."

"I know," Jana said sincerely. She glanced over her shoulder as another group of agents came hurrying in. The numbers had swelled since they had first entered the room, and now Scully's estimate had grown to over four hundred. "I think we're all about here now, so I'm going to get things moving, we have no time to lose. You just sit here and stay as calm as you can."

It was an impossible ask, but Scully was so grateful for the extraordinary extent of Jana's support that she nodded. Jana hurried away toward the front of the theatre, and Scully, her heart feeling like lead, wove her fingers through Mulder's and held them tight. She felt her mother's arm settle bracingly around her shoulders. Glancing up the aisle, she saw Christi was holding John's hand, and Anne was gripping his other arm. The urgency of their flight to the Bureau had held their tears and panic at bay, but as the room calmed and agents settled, and they had a second to think again, Scully saw it re-emerging in his glistening eyes even as she felt saltwater brimming behind her own eyes. But she clung to the hope that Monica was okay, that she had only slipped away for fresh air as she had done during her walk down the beach in Rhode Island. She told herself it was only a matter of finding her, they had nothing to be afraid of ...

"ALL RIGHT, LET'S GO!"

Jana was in front of first row, and her voice boomed out over the buzz without need for a microphone. There was a last second rush as everyone hurried to find a seat, grab their FBI windbreaker and some paper and a pen.

"LET'S GO, WE'VE GOT NO TIME TO LOSE!"

The last of the agents found seats, others stood along the walls. Despite their hidden position at the back of the theatre, Scully still felt an army of eyes on them.

"All right!" Jana said commandingly, as silence fell across the theatre. "You all know why we're here, so given the urgency of the situation I'm going to make it as a brief as possible. Less than an hour ago it was discovered that Agent Monica Reyes was missing from where she was staying at the house of Mrs Margaret Scully. We cannot accurately determine the time of her disappearance, only that the last time she was seen was just after 9pm by her fellow survivors Agents Doggett, Scully and Mulder. She left in a Bureau fleet car, and could have been gone for anywhere up to five hours. You all know the law -" Jana glanced at the Missing Person and Child Abduction divisions "-that until Agent Reyes has been missing for 48 hours the police are unable to assist. In this case they are particularly helpless, given the fact that it is extremely unlikely that any foul play was involved. Therefore that is why we have requested your assistance, but I am nevertheless duty bound to inform you that given the absence of any clear crime being committed, your participation in this task force is strictly voluntary. Anyone who wants to leave may do so now."

Scully glanced up hesitantly, afraid she would see a mass exodus. But not a single person moved.

"Just tell us what you need, Jana," Gareth Stevens called out impatiently. "We've lost sixteen of our best and we're damned if we're gonna lose anyone else. We're all here by choice."

Scully felt another rush of warmth and a hot tear slipped out down her cheek. Despite the staring from some of the agents lining the walls, she felt no urge to swipe it away. The black ribbons donned by nearly everyone in the room came to the forefront of her vision, as did the many agents, who like Agent Lauren Garnier, showed signs of sleepless nights, still deeply broken by the loss of close friends.

"We hold grave fears for Agent Reyes' life," Jana went on. "You are, of course, aware of what happened in the Rockies, and also of the fact that she has been abandoned by her adoptive parents. She is severely traumatised, and I'm afraid to say suicidal. It is likely that this is the purpose of her disappearance. We therefore consider it a matter of urgency to find her immediately. And hence, I called you here to assist us in a full-scale search of Washington."

She paused. Everyone waited, hanging on her words. Scully heard a soft sniff and glanced up to see John wiping his eyes. Christi was still gripping his hand tightly.

"All right," Jana said, and she took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. "Hobbs -" She looked to SAC Hobbs, head of Behavioural Science, "- I want to start with a complete search of the homes of Mrs Margaret Scully, Agent John Doggett, Agent Dana Scully, and of course Agent Reyes. I don't want _anything _overlooked. Search every room, cupboard, under and behind every piece of furniture, no matter how unlikely you think it might be. I want a complete search of Agent Reyes' apartment building and surrounding neighborhood, and the surrounding neighborhood of Mrs Margaret Scully's house, where she was last seen. I want stake outs on all four residences in case she returns of her own accord."

Hobbs was scribbling away as she spoke and he gave an understanding nod as she finished.

"Hemensley -" Jana next addressed the head of Cyber Crime "- I want a search of all public areas in central DC. Every street, lane and shadowy corner. Pay particular attention to all parks and reserves."

Hemensley nodded.

"Becker -" Jana walked down the aisle a little to address the head of Missing Persons "- I need you to take care of transport. That includes flights, airports, highways, trains, buses and any other way you can think of by which she may have left the city. The fact that she was driving a fleet car should make it easier. But I want every flight, bus and train register checked for her name. Also check her bank accounts for any activity. Remember she has dual citizenship, she's a Mexican citizen, and she may have headed in that direction."

"Gilbert -" Jana turned to face the head of Terrorism, and she went on in a softer voice "- I need your team to check the cemeteries and resting places of all those who've been lost. Pay particular attention to the resting places of AD Skinner, AD Follmer, Holly and Kimberly. I want a complete search of the entire cemetery grounds, and a stakeout of the gravesites in case she goes there. Given her lack of opportunity to attend the funerals I don't think it's far-fetched to think she could show up there. We know she intended to go before things went awry."

Scully had not thought of the gravesites of their friends, and now she did she agreed that it was a likely place and felt ever grateful for Jana, for she was still able to keep a level head and think logically.

"Kaminsky -" Jana next addressed the head of Communications "- I want a top-to-bottom, every square inch search of the Bureau's buildings. Start here and work your way out to Quantico. Make sure you check the roof, all the maintenance rooms and back corridors, every stairwell and store cupboard. I want a female to check all the ladies' bathrooms, including any cubicle that's locked or shut off for use. Again, search everywhere, no matter how unlikely you think it is."

"You got it," Kaminsky replied.

"Tony," Jana turned to Tony McMillan, the Media Liaison Officer they had first met in Vancouver and had been handling the press ever since. "I want you to draft a press release. If we don't find her by sunrise we'll have to ask for public assistance."

Tony gave a grave nod. They hoped it would not come to that.

"Jana, the media will have the story anyway as soon as we go asking transport authorities if she's been travelling with them," Becker spoke up. "I mean as well as the hundreds of agents we're going to have walking the streets."

"Let's delay it as long as we can," Jana said. "She's in a delicate condition and won't stand for media harassment. But we have a few hours to play with before the city wakes for rush hour. Let's find her before then."

There was a lull. Scully could see some of the SACs were restless, eager to get going and organise their teams.

"Any questions?" Jana asked, looking around.

"I'm assuming we've already checked the hospitals?" Gilbert asked.

"Yes," Jana answered. "No sign of her, but they're on alert."

"Is she armed?" Hemensley asked.

"No," Jana answered. "Her weapon is already in our care."

Scully became immensely grateful for Jana's insistence, back on the day of Follmer's funeral. It had seemed a little strange at the time, but Jana and Dr Cheung had clearly foreseen the possibility, even though Scully hadn't been willing to consider it.

Jana suddenly looked up at Scully and the group of them sitting there. "Have I missed anything?"

"No," Mulder replied. "I think that covers it."

"Except for one thing," Kersh spoke up. He had until now been listening from a corner of the room with Dr Cheung and several other prominent doctors Scully recognised from top institutions around the world. But now he moved forward and spoke seriously to the room. "I want it understood that we're looking for a fellow agent. She is traumatised, suicidal, and to be treated with compassion. If you are the one to find her, make sure you treat her delicately. Anyone doing anything less will find themselves on background checks for the next whole year."

Scully saw in his stern expression how much he meant it, and the statement was greeted with silence.

"As well as that," Dr Cheung added, striding forward, "it's critical that you do you everything you can to avoid calling the paramedics. If you find her, and she is indeed as distressed as we suspect, just keep her calm, wrap her in something warm, and call us immediately and we'll come to you. She has an intense fear of doctors and hospitals, and to contact them, or give any sign that you're thinking of contacting them, will have adverse consequences. Keep her warm and calm, don't leave her alone, and contact us and we'll come to you straightaway."

There was a pause, then Jana asked, "Any more questions?"

There was silence.

"Then I want reports every twenty minutes, whether you have news or not." She paused. "Good luck."

XXX

**3:15am**

Mulder stared out the window of Jana Cassidy's large office, one hand on the cold pane. At first he only saw his own reflection, that of an emaciated man with sunken, haunted eyes, but after several seconds his eyes adjusted and he could make out the dark shadows of the city around them. It seemed darker than usual, and he was not sure whether this was due to the overcast night sky or simply the early hours of the morning when everyone and everything was finally asleep. But as he stared out at the few streetlights dotted in lines through the choking black, his heart clenched knowing Monica was somewhere out there alone, giving up. It was the most frustrating feeling, knowing she was probably not all that far away, but if they just knew _where _...

He struggled to keep his wits. In the mirror provided by the window, Mulder watched as everyone else settled in the leather suite in the corner. John had not said a word, and it had taken all his family's effort even to get him walking to Jana's office. He had his head in his hands, and had lost interest in being strong. Similarly, Anne too, was silent. Mulder knew she was blaming herself. Christi was the only one in the family who had any real energy to comfort anyone, and she sat on John's armrest, hand moving up and down his back. But her face, too, was heavy.

On the other sofa sat Scully, Charlie's arm around her shoulders. She was staring at a spot on the floor, a million miles away in a land of grief. On her other side Margaret Scully was trying to gently regain her attention, but Scully's strength reserves were empty, and all Mulder could see in her eyes was the pain of their situation, and fear of what would happen if they found Monica dead - fear that was reflected right back at her from the Doggetts sitting opposite.

In the window he saw Jana edge up beside him and put her hand on his shoulder.

"Do you want to sit down?"

"She's out there somewhere," he heard himself reply, scanning again the shadows of buildings stretching into the distance.

"We'll find her," Jana reiterated firmly.

"_If _she's in Washington," Mulder corrected, doubt clenching its ugly fingers around his mind.

"She will be," Doctor Cheung said confidently, entering the office with another woman Mulder knew was a trauma psychiatrist from London.

"You don't understand how it feels to be here, in Washington," Mulder said. "I wouldn't put it past her to flee as far away as she can."

"I know very well how it feels for you to be here," Dr Cheung said gently. "I saw it in your faces from the first second I met you. But Monica has nowhere else to go. She has no family to run to, has no safe haven outside of your company. Everyone she loves is in this room."

Mulder could not think of what to say, though it broke his heart to hear the truth put so simply. It was so sad to think that Monica's life had been reduced so much from what it had previously been.

"Now at this stage," Dr Cheung went on, "the situation is still relatively good. Most importantly, she's not armed, and that makes things a lot easier for us. And from her medical records I've seen it's clear she wasn't on any medication that she can overdose on. She might be upset, but we have every reason to think that we're going to find her alive."

Mulder wanted to stay strong, and so he tried his hardest to take a deep breath. He reminded himself of Doctor Cheung's credentials. But as he turned his attention back out the window and tried to digest the logic, he saw in the reflection Scully's eyes widen as she lurched back from her faraway land of grief with a look of utter terror.

He turned around. "Scully?"

"Dana?" Margaret echoed, clutching her hand tighter.

Scully stared in shock for another second, and then turned to meet his eyes.

"She does have access to drugs," Scully said, in a voice of wide-eyed horror. "I have pain-killers in my apartment."

"What pain-killers?" Dr Cheung asked, stepping toward her.

"Morphine," Scully admitted quietly.

Mulder saw Anne emerge from under her hands.

Catching her look, Scully added, "I was on it for several months after I was shot. When I stopped taking it, I guess I never threw it out."

"Does she know it's there?" Jack asked quickly. "Has she ever seen it?"

Mulder himself had never seen it, and the fact that Scully had not thrown it out worried him even now. Why had she hung onto it? But there were so many bottles in that cupboard behind their mirror, and Mulder had never thought to bother himself with what they were.

Scully was thinking, and eventually she shook her head. "I'm not sure. She might."

"Where is it?" Jana asked. "I'll call Hobbs and get him to have it removed."

"In the medicine cupboard," Scully answered. "Behind the mirror, above the bathroom sink."

Jana went straight for the phone on her desk.

"I should've thought of it," Scully said, rubbing her eyes wearily.

Mulder felt a pang and he finally left the window, crossing the carpet to behind her seat. There he reached for her, running one hand down her soft red tresses and then gripping her shoulder.

"She won't know," he assured her. "If _I_ didn't know, there's no way she would."

He tried to catch her eyes, but she met them only briefly before looking away again, and it confirmed his suspicions that the morphine was not simply a case of an old medication Scully had never gotten around to throwing out. And Mulder vowed that if they ever got out of their current mess, if they ever had another carefree day in their lives, he would find out why she had kept it, even though he suspected he already knew, things had been so hard for her the last few years.

Jana clicked the phone back down in its holder. "They're not at your apartment yet, but they're going to get rid of it when they get there."

Scully nodded, avoiding her eyes. Charlie squeezed her shoulder, Mulder let go.

An unbearable silence followed, and purely to keep his mind off the possibilities they were facing, Mulder searched desperately for something to say.

"You know," he said to Jana, "no matter what the outcome, I want you to know I appreciate what you're doing, all you've done for us."

"If you want to thank me, you can re-word that so it doesn't sound a surrendering farewell speech," Jana said, shifting some papers on her desk, where everything was piled a mile high, a month's worth of work awaiting her attention.

"You must've pulled a lot of strings to get clearance for that search party," Scully said.

It was true, and had not escaped Mulder's attention either. To get a search party that size in ordinary times would be impossible enough, when the Bureau was so short-staffed and under pressure, it was harder again, and when added with the fact that there was no strict crime involved, it went down as one of the most impressive accomplishments in FBI history.

Jana gave them a small smile, and straightened some loose papers, putting them to the side.

Scully's eyes narrowed, and she looked to Mulder. All of a sudden Mulder felt scared.

"You _did _get clearance?" Mulder asked her.

Jana looked over her shoulder, but turned back, seizing a stray folder and opening it, reading the executive summary.

"Not yet, no," she admitted casually.

Scully's eyes widened even further. Even John emerged from his hands, alarmed.

"But -" Charlie started, and he broke off, looking around for confirmation that he found in everyone's eyes.

"You're going to get yourself fired," Mulder said.

"I doubt it," Jana said, putting the folder to her other side and grabbing the next one in the pile.

"You're surely not thinking they won't find out?" John asked fearfully. "With Deputy Director Kersh downstairs -"

Jana finally turned around, holding up a hand to tell them to relax.

"He already knows," she said, coming toward them and resting a hand on the back of the leather sofa. "As does every SAC whom I briefed before you arrived."

"They're all in on it?" Mulder asked, stunned. "Even Kersh?"

"Yes," Jana said, nodding, and she smiled a little at the look on his and Scully's face. "You know, I know very well you didn't get along with Alvin. But he's not a bad man. He just didn't understand the X-Files. And you can't really blame him for that. But he was in those mountains after you were found. He was the one who helped dig up the bodies of Walter and Kimberly, and no one can remain the same after seeing the sights he saw up there."

Mulder imagined Kersh hurrying through the snow, directing a team to the site he, Scully and John had mapped out for them. He saw Kersh's dark hands digging through the white snow, digging up the frozen bodies of his colleagues.

"But if it makes you feel better," Jana added, "he has nothing to lose. Between you and me, he's already secured a position at the Department of Justice. He'll be out within a month."

"Doesn't that put you in line for his job?" Charlie asked.

"I imagine I'd be one of several candidates, yes," Jana admitted.

"Assuming you don't lose the job you have now," John added bluntly.

"Look, there's no cause for concern," Jana said, voice getting firmer. "Firstly, I'm on the panel of the Office of Professional Review. I'm friends with everyone on there and I find it hard to believe they'd be anything but understanding. Secondly, the Bureau can't afford to lose a single staff member right now and because of these political realities I'd get no more than a slap on the wrist. Thirdly, given your public support there'd be uproar if the director became hostile at all. Fourthly, even I did lose my job I could get another one tomorrow at double the pay. And lastly," she sighed, "given everything I've seen over the past month, I'm only one of thousands here doubting whether I even want to stay at all."

Mulder saw the black ribbon that had been tied out of sight around her wrist slip down a little over her hand. He stared at it, at the carefully tied knot, and thought again of the hundreds of such black ribbons he had seen worn by the agents who were currently running all over Washington. And suddenly all the fear he felt melted into sympathy, and into a powerful, touching feeling of unity.

The phone rang. Jana turned and went to answer it. She glanced at the caller ID and picked up the receiver.

"Gilbert, give me good news ..."

At the same time, Jack got to his feet.

"Where are you going?" Anne asked.

"To use a phone," he replied. "Even if we do find Monica we're going to need some help."

XXX

**6:36am**

Over three hours later and the tension in Jana's office was approaching breaking point. Mulder now sat beside Scully, his hand on her thigh, trying to comfort her even though he knew it was useless. On the couch opposite, John was silently crying. Anne was trying not to, but a few tears had escaped her careful guard. Christi was also tense, but straining to hold herself together for John's sake. For they should have found Monica by now. Every SAC team had called every twenty minutes as instructed, but they had no news. His and Scully's apartment had been searched and emptied of the morphine. John's place, Mrs Scully's house and Monica's apartment had all been similarly searched, including the surrounding neighborhoods, but to no avail and Hobbs' team had been reduced to a watch, hoping Monica would return.

Hemensley had finished his search of the public areas of DC only forty minutes before, and now had his team broken up and stationed on key points all over the city centre. But it was such a slim chance that Monica would show, and Mulder knew that it was only a matter of time before they would be called off.

Mulder's hopes had been resting largely on Becker's team, who had the huge job of checking transportation. But as the news filtered in from the different sections of his team, Mulder's hopes faded with every apologetic phone call that Jana, Kersh, and Jana's personal assistant Jessica, fielded. The Bureau fleet car Monica had taken was nowhere to be seen. Transport authorities had verbally confirmed straight off that she had not travelled by train, bus or air, claiming that due to Monica's fame they definitely would have remembered. Becker's team insisted on them double-checking, even searching their parking areas for the Bureau's car, but the results turned up negative and Mulder had overheard Becker's conversation with Kersh, voicing the suspicion that Monica was long gone out of Washington.

And that only left Gilbert and Kaminsky. Mulder thought it was a good chance that Monica might show at the gravesites of the victims, but was disappointed when the agents of Gilbert's team called in confirming there was no one to be seen. They had searched the entire grounds of several cemeteries, including Arlington, and then, like Hobbs' team, were reduced to a hopeful stakeout.

These three hours later, it was only Kaminsky's team who were unfinished, and on whom everyone's desperate hopes rested. It had taken over an hour for them to search the Hoover building, the enormous breadth of the building making it a hundred times more difficult than a narrow skyscraper. They had been thorough, even coming through Jana's office, but when the hour passed Kaminsky came in to confirm she was nowhere to be found. She had never come to the Hoover building. But then he eyed them sitting there and quickly added that there was no reason to be afraid. The Bureau had other minor buildings all over Washington - labs and research stations, the Bureau gymnasium and physical fitness centre, and other specialised divisions - and he was dividing up his team so they could all be searched as quickly as possible. And then, after that, there was still Quantico ...

"She has no reason to go to Quantico," Scully said, hand over her face, weary and depressed. "You won't find her there."

"She's not thinking rationally," Dr Cheung reminded them. "You might well find her in the place you'd never expect her to go."

"Especially if she's trying to avoid being found," Kersh added kindly.

"I wouldn't give up hope," Jana said. "The fact that we haven't found her yet means that wherever she is, she's stationary. And therefore it's only a matter of time."

But she had broken off her train of thought as Tony McMillan came in with his draft of their press release. And Jana had checked her watch, and looked out to the sky outside that had been beginning to drift from black to purple, the sunrise creeping in, and when she conceded its release Mulder felt he was seeing the nails being hammered into Monica's coffin. Enlisting the help of the media and the public was a final, last chance. But Jana was in a difficult position, and had to send a press release no matter what, as having hundreds of FBI agents stationed around the city would only cause alarm unless the real reason was given. And the city was waking up as the workforce hauled itself out of bed. And still they sat on the leather lounge with no news ...

And now here they were. The purple sky had gone, lighting up into a yellow glow as seven o'clock approached. Eventually Jana sighed, and having a brief break from phone duty she made her way over to the television and turned it on. Immediately there was a newsreader with a large photo of Monica smiling under the headline, "MONICA REYES MISSING: FBI SEARCH CITY". The story moved through video footage of some of Hemensley's team in the parks of central DC, standing together in the cold, wearing FBI windbreakers.

"... It appears the operation is being led by Assistant Director Jana Cassidy, who instigated the search just after 3:00am this morning after being notified that Agent Reyes was missing from the house of Margaret Scully, where the survivors are currently staying. But despite the hundreds of agents who have been scouring the streets of Washington for the last four hours, success appears to remain elusive. Experts predict that Monica Reyes is suicidal, with ..."

John looked away quickly as though the image burned him.

Jana quickly hit the off button and the image faded. As she put down the remote the phone rang and Jessica answered it. She listened for a moment and then held her hand over the speaker.

"Mrs Doggett we have two visitors downstairs claiming to be your sisters?"

"Let them in," Kersh said quickly.

Jessica had arrived in the office only after Jack's SOS phone call to their relatives in Georgia. Shortly later Mulder had learned that the recipient of the distress call had been Deirdre, one of Anne's three younger sisters, and who also happened to be a successful psychologist in Atlanta. With her was coming Jenny, but Jack had been careful to ensure that that was it, and the remainder of the family stayed in Atlanta. For this Mulder was grateful, as he knew Scully would not be comfortable around masses of strangers, and it was a carefully balanced process.

A few minutes later and he was coming to the conclusion that he need not have worried. Deirdre marched into Jana's office, wheeling her case behind her, and the Doggett family stood up to meet her. A step behind her was Jenny, also leaving her case in the doorway and coming to reunite with their family.

"John ..." Deirdre said, heading straight for him and wrapping her arms around the nephew she thought she had lost. Jenny embraced Anne.

Watching them, the first thing that hit Mulder was the incredible resemblance between the three sisters. Like Anne, both were blonde, tall and slim, and had the same crystal clear, stunning blue eyes that had been inherited by Christi. Deirdre was a gentle woman, but one who radiated strength and professionalism, and Mulder immediately understood why Jack had sent for her. Two seconds into the hug with John and he had broken down in tears again, but she only pulled him closer, holding him firmly and saying, "Shhh ... it's all going to be okay, she'll be found and when she is I'll help her ..."

More incredibly, though, was Jenny. She had the presence that Mulder could only describe as being that of a lady. She was dressed femininely, and had a genuine sweetness in her disposition that was completely non-threatening and relaxed him straightaway. Jenny moved to hug Christi, and then turned to be introduced to himself, Scully and Maggie and Charlie. When Deirdre eventually broke apart from John, John looked at Jenny with wet eyes.

"Jenny ..."

And John reached for her almost weakly, and Jenny smiled and went to hug her nephew as he wrapped his arms around her. And this, Mulder saw, was part of the reunion John had been aching for, to see these much loved relatives again, to be comforted by Jenny's calm, gentle presence and by Deirdre's professionalism and knowledge of psychology that had undoubtedly been much leaned on by Anne and Jack over the past week.

"What about you?" Deirdre asked Anne quietly, putting her arm around her worn-out older sister.

"I can't stop blaming myself," Anne admitted, her voice only just managing to remain level. "I should've known when she broke down in the kitchen. I should've got help ..."

"You're not to blame," Deirdre said firmly. "_No one's _to blame. And it's going to be all right. What she's doing is a classic plea for help, and when we find her, we'll give her all the help she needs."

"She's going to need a lot of therapy," Jack said.

"Yes," Deirdre admitted, and she glanced at Dr Cheung and Dr Harris from London who were standing nearby. "And we're more than capable of taking care of that between us. Don't worry. But what I think she needs more, what I think this comes down to, is nothing more than love. What she needs first and foremost is someone she can lean on. And I know how close you are -" she added, catching Mulder and Scully's looks, "- but I think she's scared that if she opens up to you, it'll break you. What she really needs is a parent figure. Someone who wasn't there, and someone she can rely on to always be strong for her, always love her, and give her lots of good old fashioned TLC."

Anne nodded, wiping her eyes. "I can do that."

"_We _can do that," Christi corrected.

Anne gave a weak smile, and looked around at all her family. She nodded, took a deep breath.

"Then let's all sit down," Deirdre said, steering Anne back towards the chair as John sat down between Jenny and Christi. Deirdre looked up at Dr Cheung and Dr Harris, inviting them to join them. "While we're waiting I want you to fill me in on everything I haven't heard already. Then we'll map out a plan."

XXX

**7:14am**

Agent Lauren Garnier stood outside the gymnasium on the extensive grounds of Quantico. Next to her stood Stacie Griffin, a rookie who had only just emerged from the training facilities herself, but whom Lauren had quickly gotten to know and like over the previous six months, and who had become instant friends with herself, Kimberly and Holly. It was the hell-sent introduction to the FBI, six months that had looked so hopeful for her young friend only to lose two of her best friends and be exposed to this heart-breaking horror that no one in the Bureau had yet been able to shake off.

It had been four hours since they had first left the Illura Theatre under Kaminsky's direction and begun to search the Hoover building from basement to roof. Since then they had not stopped running, and what had sounded like a simple search had become a marathon that exhausted everyone but yet for which no one was ever going to complain. And this was for the same reasons that Lauren embraced herself - that she could not shake Holly and Kim from her thoughts, and every step she ran was a gift to her dead friends, something she could do for them, a way to help. And even if one of them went into cardiac arrest from over-exertion, the rest would keep going. The drive from Washington to Quantico had been their brief break - and though it was 35 miles it had been driven in record time, with sirens blaring to clear traffic. Now they were hear at Quantico, stood in a circle around Kaminsky while the cadets emerged from dormitories to watch the action they had now seen on television, and Lauren only felt raring to get going again.

"All right," Kaminsky said, returning from the security building across the gravel and choosing to ignore the gathering crowd of curious trainees. "Security have put over an announcement asking for everyone's full cooperation, so no one will get in your way. Same deal as last time. Genovese, you and your group take the dormitories. Davison, the dining hall. Whiteside, library and classrooms. Johnson, the Auditorium and research labs. Sheil, take a large team and cover the grounds. Garnier, you lot do the gymnasium and track. Don't forget to keep your radios on, meet back here when you're done."

The group split, and Garnier turned with her team of ten for the huge FBI gymnasium. They were blessed with having the finest physical fitness facilities in the country, but now they had to search it Lauren realised how truly magnificent it was.

She marched in through the doors, Stacie beside her, the other agents following behind, some still out of breath from their exhausting search of all the buildings in DC. But they were well in the rhythm of the search now, and she did not need to organise them or shout instructions as they automatically fanned out down the corridor, breaking off into the fitness rooms, the actual gymnasium, the athletics tracks outside, and Garnier, Stacie, and two male agents all the way to the far end where the swimming pool was located.

"She can't be here," Agent Lawrence said, shaking his head as they jogged past the front desk where the clerk followed them with her eyes, and past several cadets who stood back respectfully to make way. "She wouldn't get in without being seen."

"She's been gone all night, she's had plenty of time to get in," Lauren argued, throwing open the glass door to the pool on the other side. The wet floor was slippery, and she looked out across the huge pool at several cadets who despite the early hour, were doing laps.

"It's a 24 hour gym," Stacie reminded them.

"She hiked a fucking mountain range," Agent Matthews said under his breath, from Lawrence's side. "You really think she feels like more exercise?"

"We got ordered to search it, and search it we will," Lauren replied bluntly. They reached the head of the pool and she pointed to the right, where the male change rooms were, and Lawrence and Matthews broke off in that direction. Lauren turned with Stacie and marched down the left side.

She had only gone a few steps when she heard someone shouting on her radio that was clipped to her belt.

"Schofield to Kaminsky! Schofield to Kaminsky!"

"Kaminsky," was the brief reply.

Lauren stopped, the urgency of the voice halting her in her tracks. On the opposite side of the pool she saw Lawrence stop as well, reaching for his belt and adjusting the volume.

"We've found the car! It's parked in the staff area amongst about thirty others. She must be here, Kaminsky! Repeat, she must be here!"

"Are you sure?" Kaminsky asked quickly. "Did you check the registration?"

"It's definitely it, but there's no sign of her around here and the engine's cold," Schofield said urgently. "She could still be miles away by now..."

"All right, I'm coming to check it out. Station an agent there and keep searching! She must be nearby ..."

Shock washing through her system like an intoxicating poison, Lauren stared at Stacie.

"Oh my God," Stacie said, eyes wide.

Lauren hurriedly turned on her heels and suddenly with a hundred times more energy than she'd ever had in her life, she ran down the side of the pool, blood pounding through every vein in her body.

_It made sense_. It was so painfully obvious now. _Where better to hide a fleet car than the staff car park at Quantico?_

But where would she go from there?

Lauren's thoughts went immediately to the extensive grounds, the hundreds of acres of secluded land surrounding the training facilities. You could hide there for days and not be found.

Lauren pushed over the door to the female change rooms and marched inside. The benches surrounding the walls were empty except for one young woman who quickly hoisted a towel to cover herself.

"Don't be alarmed," Lauren said briskly. "We're part of the search party ..."

And she went for the next door that led to the showers and toilets. The long line held at least twelve toilet cubicles, and half a dozen showers. With Stacie waiting at the door, Lauren proceeded inside, marching along the row, pushing wide open every cubicle door to double check it was empty.

"Kaminsky to team! Kaminsky to team!"

Lauren paused so she could hear.

"Confirming the car _is _that of Monica Reyes. Am contacting AD Cassidy now. Monica Reyes _must _be here. Repeat, Monica Reyes _must _be here, proceed carefully!"

Lauren continued up the line of toilet cubicles, throwing open the doors. Clang, clang, clang, until the toilets ended and the showers began, and Lauren threw those doors open exactly the same, until she came to the very last one in the row, which was engaged.

Lauren rapped on the door.

"Is anyone in there?"

There was silence.

Lauren knocked again.

"This is Agent Lauren Garnier on instruction from SAC Kaminsky. Can you please confirm your name and that you're okay?"

"It'll be shut off for maintenance," Stacie said from the doorway far behind. "The drain always blocks in that shower. No one uses it."

"We have to check it anyway," Lauren said, remembering the strict instructions from AD Cassidy, and not willing to let a single chance go now that they knew Monica was on the premises.

"This is Agent Lauren Garnier, can you please confirm your name, otherwise I'll be forced to come in."

No response. Lauren looked down to the base of the door, but there was no clearing. She would have to look over the top. She quickly ducked in the open shower stall next to it, and stood on the foot long wooden bench that was provided for people's bags. Then, gripping her hands on the top of the stall wall, she pulled herself up, muscles screaming. Then, hoisted to her waist, she had sufficient balance to look down into the closed shower stall.

And there was Monica. Huddled in a silent ball in the corner of the shower recess.

"Lauren?"

Lauren looked over her shoulder at Stacie, eyes wide and heart pounding in complete and utter shock. Stacie's eyes widened in turn.

Lauren tried to keep a level head and she recalled every instruction from AD Cassidy, DD Kersh and Dr Cheung. _Stay calm, don't call the paramedics ...keep her warm ..._

"Get Kaminsky," Lauren said, in the calmest voice she could manage. "And get everyone out of the building."

"She's there?" Stacie asked softly.

Lauren nodded. And without another word, she turned off the volume on her radio, swung her legs over the wall, and dropped down into the stall.

* * *

_So what did you think? Should I write more? This chapter was shorter than usual, but this really felt like the right place to break it._


	27. Chapter 27

**_Chapter 56 - Hitting Rock Bottom_**

She was curled up in a pair of red satin pyjamas in the corner of the shower, knees arched hard against her chest, arms crossed clinging to her abdomen, and head bowed against her knees so all Lauren could see was her quivering brown hair and bare feet. She did not look up in shock at Lauren's drop from above, but Lauren knew she was aware of her presence, as her whole body was rigidly tense, and Lauren had the feeling that if she made the slightest unwelcome move, Monica would lash out violently against her - or worse, against herself.

For a moment she chose to give Monica a second to adjust, and stood still, reaching behind her to twist open the lock so Kaminsky and Stacie could get back in. Then she knelt down on the damp tiles.

"Monica?" she said softly. Then, when she got no reply, she said, "It's okay, Monica. My name's Lauren Garnier. We've been looking for you..."

She tentatively reached toward her, put her fingertips to Monica's knee, but Monica flinched and drew her knees up even tighter and Lauren hastily withdrew her hand.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she said gently. "I'm not going to harm you in any way."

She waited hopefully for a response of some kind, but Monica offered nothing and only continued trying to squeeze herself into the tightest ball possible.

"I'm a friend of Holly and Kim, Monica," she said. "Believe me, I understand some of what you're feeling. And I'm here to help. I'm not going to hurt you."

Again, Lauren very slowly reached out, this time lowering her fingertips lightly on Monica's shoulder.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she soothed.

Monica tensed hard, but the relief Lauren felt when Monica did not throw her off entirely was huge, and after another second she felt comfortable in lowering her entire palm onto Monica's shoulder and squeezing gently.

"Are you hurt?" Lauren asked, dipping her head to try to see Monica's buried face. "Are you in any pain, injured in any way?"

Monica did not reply, and Lauren had to try to assess her condition unaided. But she did not appear injured - only severely traumatised. Lauren raised her free hand to her FBI jacket and unzipped it.

"Let me wrap this around you," she said to Monica. "You must be freezing."

She briefly let go of Monica's shoulder to shrug the jacket off, and then spread it open and ever so gradually lowered it around Monica's back. Then she took the sides and tried to bring them around her shoulders. At the same time she heard SAC Kaminsky and Stacie open the door at the end of the room and make their way down until they stood directly on the other side of the shower door.

"Agent Garnier?" came Kaminsky's voice.

Kaminsky very tentatively began to push the door open and his face appeared around the edge.

"We need something warm," Lauren said straightaway. "A blanket or a towel."

Kaminsky immediately made eye contact with Stacie, and then Lauren heard Stacie quickly retreat. Kaminsky edged further into the shower and knelt down beside Lauren.

"Is she hurt?" he asked quietly.

Lauren shook her head. Then she slowly shifted closer and gently put an arm around Monica's back.

"It's all going to be all right," she told Monica, gently strengthening her grip until she felt Monica quivering, almost shaking under the FBI windbreaker. "We're going to contact your friends, let them know you're okay. They've been really worried. We all have."

She tried to make light of it, let her know that no harm had been done, and she rubbed Monica's shaking back like a mother soothing a child.

"And in the meantime we can stay right here if you like," she continued, thinking that in Monica's place, emerging into an enormous crowd of cadets and FBI agents standing around the swimming pool wouldn't be an appealing idea.

As Lauren continued to rub her back, ever so gradually firming her grip and drawing closer, Kaminsky reached up and put his fingers to the side of Monica's still-buried face.

"She's clammy," he said worriedly. His brow furrowed in fear as he pressed his fingers again down on the side of Monica's face. Monica again flinched and drew her knees up tighter again, burrowing her face further into her knees.

"We're not going to hurt you," Lauren repeated softly. "It's okay."

But between Monica's quivering and Kaminsky's discovery of her clammy skin, Lauren was fast becoming more worried. Her thoughts went straight to calling a doctor, but equally as fast came the memory of Dr Cheung's warning not to do so, and instead Lauren recalled her first aid training. Then, ever so gently, she reached for one of Monica's pyjama-covered hands that was wedged between her stomach and thighs, slipping her hand between all the red satin in an effort to find a wrist and a pulse.

Monica stiffened and gave a pained gasp.

"It's all right," Kaminsky said, laying a paternal hand on her opposite shoulder.

Lauren continued to slip her hand in. Monica had buried her fists inside the sleeves of her pyjama top, but Lauren felt her wrist, and she enclosed her fingers around it just as Monica gave an almighty gasp of agony and threw her head back, wincing. At the same time, Lauren felt her blood turn to ice as the wrist she had grabbed was as wet as if Monica had been taking a fully-clothed shower.

"Garnier?" Kaminsky asked, narrowing his eyes as she froze.

And then, with a sense of heavy dread, Lauren held her breath as she withdrew her hand again, and opened her palm to find her entire hand covered in bright red blood.

XXX

On the couch in Jana Cassidy's office, Scully wearily tried to focus on the discussion bouncing back and forth between members of the circle. It was chiefly a conference about Monica, with Doctor Cheung, the female Doctor Harris from London, and now Anne's intelligent psychologist sister Deirdre, wading through a thick analysis of her condition. But despite Scully's medical training, she could barely muster the energy to listen, let alone contribute, as discussing ways to help Monica with her numerous issues felt too much like an absurd game of putting the cart before the horse, considering no one still had any idea where she was. And so, like Mulder and John, she let their families handle most of the interrogation, and in the end it was Anne who carried most of it, helping the three experts through providing all she knew about Monica's physical and psychological state.

"And did she cry at all when you were in Rhode Island?" Doctor Cheung asked.

Scully, her head bowed with her mother's hand roaming around her back and Mulder's hand strangling her sore fingers, didn't register she had been spoken to until a conspicuous pause engulfed the room.

"Agents?" Doctor Cheung pressed, and this time Scully forced herself to look up, though neither Mulder nor John had the energy to join her. "Did she cry at all?"

Scully's mind had locked onto terrifying visions of finding Monica dead, a suicide victim, and the terror of the vision was such that she hardly remembered Rhode Island at all. Though it was only twenty-four hours ago, it felt like a couple of centuries, and the history books associated with it had long been archived.

"Uh ..." she said, forcibly pulling her mind away from the numerous possibilities of how they might find Monica dead, "I don't know."

Then, realising how lame it sounded, she sighed and tried harder, recalling how things had occurred during the short time they were there. She let herself recall the long trip to Rhode Island, Monica's emergence from Spanish back to English, her fast and furious seduction of John ...

"No, she didn't," she said, with final certainty.

"No symptoms at all?" Doctor Harris pressed, in her thick, high class English accent. "She never talked to you about how she felt, or showed any emotion whatsoever?"

Under the earshot of three professionals, numerous family members, an Assistant Director and a Deputy Director, Scully hesitated. The truth was there had been one definite sign of emotion that Monica had displayed, but it had taken place during her closed-doors behaviour with John. It was their mutual, desperate need to forget that had the two stripping and groping each other at every opportunity. In hindsight, she now realised that their return to the four of them sharing a room in her mother's house had not helped, only depriving them of the one comfort the two had.

"Wasn't she concerned about her inheritance?" Charlie asked, coming to her rescue. "You called us, wanting to know if she'd been cut from the will."

"Yes," Scully said, seizing the topic with relief. "It was one of the first things she asked about."

"And later John said she banned you from referring to them as her parents," Jack added.

"Yes," Scully said, nodding as she remembered Monica's fierce insistence, which no one had been able to blame her for at all. "She disowned them as they disowned her."

"And shortly after she voiced her desire to sell the story," Deirdre concluded, nodding as though it all made sense.

Next to her, Scully sensed Mulder shifting impatiently. His sweaty fingers dug further into hers and she could feel his temper rising like water coming to the boil. She shifted her hand to get a better grip on his and gave it a squeeze to console him.

"All right," Doctor Harris said. "So you couldn't come to agreement over selling the story and decided to return to Washington. And then -"

"Before we go into that," Doctor Cheung interrupted softly, breaking Doctor Harris' train of thought and staring across intently at Scully, "I think you should come clean with whatever it is you're holding back."

"I'm not holding anything back," Scully said bluntly, pushing again back her own medical opinion on John and Monica's relationship.

"_Dana_," Scully heard her mother say softly, and made the mistake of glancing around to see her mother's knowing eyes boring insistently into her own.

"I don't want to talk about it," Scully said flatly, and looked away.

There was a long, stretching pause, during which the soft voices of Kersh, Jana and Jessica talking discretely at Jana's desk - and politely ignoring the entire conversation - felt more pronounced.

"Would it help if we stepped outside?" Doctor Cheung suggested. "If you told me in private?"

"No," Scully said, more politely this time. "I have nothing to share."

But her denial was not believed by anyone, and her mother and Charlie only looked at her more keenly. Charlie's gaze was especially irritating, as she felt that he could probably read her mind, and that his logical mind was already narrowing down possibilities. But then suddenly the phone on Jana's desk rang, and Scully was saved from the interrogation as they all stopped to listen in, hoping frantically for news.

"AD Cassidy," Jana answered, punching the speaker phone button.

"It's Kaminsky," came Kaminsky's rough, urgent voice.

"How's the search prog -"

But Kaminsky interrupted. "We've found her."

It was so sudden that at first no one dared to believe it, and there was a split second of silence as Scully felt the entire weight of the universe had been lifted from her shoulders and her heart feel light and giddy. Mulder's fingers slackened around her own as he shot to his feet. Opposite, John's drowned eyes snapped up in the direction of the desk. He stumbled to his feet and in a flash they were suddenly all rushing for Jana's desk.

"She'd shut herself in a shower stall in the pool changing rooms," Kaminsky blurted. "She's -"

"What's her condition?" Dr Cheung cut in, moving in beside Jana. "Is she stab -"

"No," Kaminsky said urgently. "She's an absolute mess. Jana, I'm requesting your immediate permission to call the paramedics."

Scully's heart, which had been floating somewhere around the ceiling, shot back into her body and painfully fizzled like a bottle of hydrochloric acid had been poured down her throat. Suddenly she couldn't breathe and her chest was as tight as it had been in the ICU.

"What's wrong with her?" Scully demanded.

"Is that Agent Scully?" Kaminsky asked impatiently. "Get them _out _of there, Jana."

"They have to know, Kaminsky, just give it to us straight," Jana said crisply.

Scully was grateful when Kaminsky evidently decided he had no time to waste arguing.

"She's harmed herself," he said. "She's cut her arm to shreds, there's blood everywhere."

Scully's feet nearly left her, but her mother's firm arm shot around her shoulders just in time, holding her tight. She could not look at her friends, but heard Charlie scramble to Mulder's side, and John whimper, "No ..."

Oxygen became scarcer than ever.

"Jana, I need an ambulance immediately," Kaminsky demanded. "She's losing blood."

"No," Scully said firmly, immediately finding her feet again as the possibility of a whole new nightmare swamped her. "She can't handle hospitals, you'll break her."

"You'll _kill _her!" Mulder joined in loudly.

"Jana, I need the ambulance," Kaminsky insisted, ignoring Scully and Mulder's protests.

"Describe the wound," Dr Cheung cut in. "How big is it?"

"It's diagonally down her left wrist, about three inches long."

Scully's heart pain doubled. It sounded like the worst possible cut. Monica knew what she was doing.

"Is it deep?" Dr Cheung asked. "Has she cut any veins or arteries, or is it merely a break of the skin?"

"I didn't look that closely," Kaminsky said. "It might just be the skin, but it's been bleeding for a while. The wound is deeper up one end than the other, but it'll need stitches."

"How much blood has she lost?" Dr Harris asked. "Can you estimate?"

"It's covering the sleeve of her forearm."

"That's not so bad," Dr Harris said hopefully, looking up to Dr Cheung. Scully understood perfectly well that they were stuck between a rock and a hard place. They could not call the paramedics. Dr Cheung knew firsthand how it affected her. But neither could they leave Monica without medical assistance for the time it would take to get to Quantico, which was 35 miles ...

"Can you fix it alone?" Jana asked them.

"Yes," Dr Cheung said. "I have my things with me. But -"

"You'll _kill _her if you send her to hospital," Mulder repeated aggressively. "She only survived in Vancouver because Scully was there, and her mental state is a hundred times worse now."

"I'm not sure we can take the chance," Anne said worriedly.

"Her psychiatric state has to take preference," Scully argued. "A cut we can fix, and she'll be under supervision until we get there. But if you send her to the ER she'll almost certainly lose whatever stability she has left. The damage could easily be permanent."

"How far is it to Quantico?" Dr Cheung asked.

"35 miles," Kersh answered. "With sirens, it'll still be nigh on half an hour. Especially at this time of morning."

"That's too far," Dr Harris said. "We can't take the chance."

"Then call a doctor at Quantico," Mulder suggested quickly. "One of the ones Scully used to work with, they can supervise her until we get there."

Jana gave a weak nod, then checked her watch. "It's still early, they probably won't have even left home."

"Just try," Mulder insisted. "_One _of them will be there."

Kersh pulled out his cell phone and immediately dialled a number. Jana and Dr Cheung both looked torn between the two competing options.

"Scott's at Quantico," Kersh said a moment later.

There was a long pause.

Jana looked up at Dr Cheung. "It's your call."

Scully held her breath, praying ...

"Then let's go," Dr Cheung said, turning to snatch up his things. "We'll have to make it in record time."

XXX

Time seemed to have adopted a bizarre new pace. Whereas before, since Monica's return to civilisation, it had hurtled forward totally out of control, it was now the reverse, and now every second dawdled in strolling past her as she sat numb in the corner of the damp shower stall, with Lauren Garnier leaning over her, and Kaminsky and Professor Scott towering over her in the doorway like awkward statues.

She did not know exactly how long it had been since Agent Garnier had climbed into the shower, but it felt like an eternity. She had expected them to act wildly, with a possible result of drama, an ambulance, mass crowds and several cameras, but it had not happened. Instead, they had done nothing. Lauren kept talking to her, saying they had called Scully, Mulder and John, and Monica knew they were coming, but in the meantime the uncomfortable silence stretched. Professor Scott had marched in full of self-importance and attempted to examine her arm, but Monica had violently retaliated and - without knowing why and certainly not caring - forced him away from her with ear-splitting swearing and a swift kick aimed up at his shins, causing his and Kaminsky's retreat to the doorway. But Lauren Garnier was different, and the abuse Monica had shouted at both the men - most of it in Spanish - she had not been able to hurl at this gentle woman who had been such a close friend of Holly and Kim, for it would be equal to attacking Holly or Kim themselves. And so Monica had nothing to do but tolerate her presence, and it was her who held Monica's arm up above her heart, clutching the towel to it with a grip that sent searing pain through Monica's limb, and she, too, had wrapped the silver space blanket around her body and under her feet to trap the heat to her and keep her warm. And her touch - so gentle and genuinely caring like Holly's - only doubled Monica's pain as she remembered her departed friend - that wonderful friend who had also not been able to live under the pressure. How she loved Holly now, understood Brad now ... her comrades she had planned to join, would still join when given the chance ... and if there was a heaven, she would belong with them there ...

"They'll be here soon," Lauren soothed, continuing to rub Monica's shoulder with her spare hand.

Monica had her forehead buried against her bony knees and did not bother to respond. She still felt fury coursing her veins. At what - she did not know exactly. Partly the unfairness of the world, her former parents, her jealousy of her friends' families, and her extreme discomfort at being trapped like an animal in a cage in this shower stall. And backed into a corner, she had attacked Scott and gladly released her anger on a very irritating target. But she did not know where this anger came from, it simply pulsed through her, burning in the backs of her eyes as boiling hot tears threatened to spill and she wanted to lash out and show the world how much she hated it - that she had played by the rules, done everything right, been a good citizen, hard worker and caring friend, only to have it shoved back in her face and be put through all this utter pain. And what was the point? Why should she bother going on if the world just fed her this shit in return? Why the hell should she try?

And so Monica stayed there, hunched over in a rigid ball with eyes squeezed shut and every muscle tense with swirling agony, and every second crawled as the sweet Lauren tried her best to comfort her, and Kaminsky and Scott hovered in the doorway, not having a clue what to do with her.

And then suddenly the everlasting sense of paused time broke as she heard sirens in the distance, gradually getting louder. And then it was only seconds later that she heard the outer door to the changing rooms swing open with its characteristic screech and then Kaminsky, like a man hugely relieved of a horrible responsibility, rushed to meet the newcomer.

Monica tensed further, immediately terrified of who it might be. As much as she loved her friends, she did absolutely not want to see them right now. She could bear to see John's face, witness the look in his eyes of how she had betrayed them in sneaking away. But she felt a small piece of relief when she heard Doctor Cheung's voice hurrying down the toilet block. He, at least, was a gentleman and Monica could not help having a soft spot for the man remembering his hour with her in the church following Brad's funeral.

"How is she?" he asked immediately, letting the door clang shut behind him.

Kaminsky talked hurriedly and quietly, but Monica still caught several phrases, including "anxiety attacks", "violent" and "won't let anyone near her but Garnier".

She did not hear Doctor Cheung give a reply to the rapid onslaught of information. She did hear him finally reach the entrance to the shower stall, and felt his burning stare looking down at her, but she did not dare look up. She did not want to see them.

"You'd better step outside," she heard him say, and next thing she heard two pairs of footsteps retreat, and then a third as Lauren Garnier gently lowered Monica's arm again and then let go.

"And Agent Garnier ..." There was a pause. "Can you ask Anne Doggett to come in?"

Monica's heart jittered and she braced herself to be confronted by the one woman in the world who she knew had the capability to undo her resolve. Monica loved Anne a lot, but she was John's mother, not her own. And her own lousy parents had taught her that people could simply not be trusted. The world was not a worthwhile place to be.

"Monica?"

Monica heard the doctor's gentle voice, heard him put something down on the tiles, and sensed his burning hands reaching for her.

"Get away from me!" she shouted into her legs.

"Okay," Doctor Cheung said gently. "I won't touch you if you don't want to be touched. That's your right."

He accepted her violence so easily that Monica felt momentarily displaced, but the feeling quickly went, and she raised her aching arm up again, sliding it back between her stomach and thighs, where it had first been before being forcibly extracted by Lauren Garnier - and where the doctor could not reach it.

"I'll just sit here as a friend, shall I?" Doctor Cheung said casually. "Keep you company for a while."

She heard him sit down on the tiles then, with a slightly exaggerated sigh of relaxation, and then there was a second or two of pure silence before she heard the distant door open again, and Anne's slow footsteps make their way toward them. And then the slow rhythm of her walking stopped, and Monica again felt the sixth sense of someone standing right before her, and she held her breath.

"Oh, Monica," Anne's trembling voice came softly. "Oh my God, sweetheart ..."

Monica heard her step forward and braced herself. And then, sure enough, she felt Anne's hand touch her hair and Monica flinched, shrinking down. But the violence hovering in the back of her throat was stifled, and like with Lauren Garnier, a small part of her heart stopped her letting rip with it.

"Why are you afraid?" Anne's gentle voice asked. "You know I won't hurt you. Neither of us will."

Monica had no idea why she was terrified. But she had loved her parents for thirty-three years, and they had deserted her. She felt her fury descend back into her veins with renewed force.

And then, unexpectedly, she felt a pair of arms enclose around her, wrapping around her back and shins, and Monica whimpered, shrinking away.

"Don't touch me!" she pleaded weakly.

"Why shouldn't I touch you?" Anne asked, her voice sounding more confident now, but still so smooth and gentle, so mother-like. She did not withdraw her arms, and the soothing touch remained resting on Monica from all directions so there was no escape. "Hmm? Why shouldn't I touch you?"

She felt the space blanket shift on her shoulders as Anne adjusted it, and then Anne's lean fingers sliding her hair out to sit on top.

"Please," Monica whimpered, desperately hoping Anne would pull away.

"No, I'm not backing away," Anne said, tightening the space blanket around Monica's body. "I'm not going to leave you."

"Please," Monica repeated, and she heard her own voice breaking with tears.

"No," Anne said, tightening her grip and hugging Monica firmly. "You can do whatever you like, Monica, but I'm not leaving you. I'm not leaving my own child to sit here alone, bleeding and crying ..."

And Monica felt Anne's soft lips press themselves to her hair as her arms continued to cocoon her in a hug. But Monica's heart was busy falling apart at the statement, simultaneously the most touched she had ever been in her life, and also heartbroken at the lie.

"I'm not," Monica said, and she sniffed to hold back her hot tears.

"Of course you are," came Anne's quick reply, joined with another kiss to her hair. "I know I haven't given birth to you, I didn't have the honour of raising you, but Monica there is nothing I want more than to be your mother. Give me a chance, Monica. I _promise _I won't let you down."

Monica felt her resolve weakening, but she choked out, "I'm not yours."

"There's a lot more to family than genetics," Anne said softly. "And I already love you like my own. And I will help you with everything you're feeling, I will be there for you every step of the way to help you get better. No matter if it takes months, or years, I'll be there. Every day for the rest of my life. And Jack will be there, too. He loves you _so _much. And you know Christi loves you as a sister. And you and I both know John loves you with all his heart, in a way that he's never loved or been connected with any woman before. We all love you so much, Monica. Just _let _us love you." She lowered her voice to a coaxing whisper and Monica felt Anne's breath in her hair. "Let me be your Mom."

Monica could not speak, but the tears that had been lurking on the brink finally fell, and she whimpered as she felt the burning pain flow out of her at last, the hot saltwater flowing down her cheeks as Anne's arms tightened around her.

"Be my daughter, Monica," Anne pleaded, kissing her on the hair again.

And against Anne's caring form, Monica nodded, sniffing, crying and shaking with the cold, her weakness, and cascading tears. And then she fell sideways into Anne's arms, finally surrendering her defensive position and letting Anne hug her fully against her slim body. And Monica wrapped her right arm around Anne's waist as Anne pulled her hard against her and Monica cried into the crook of Anne's neck.

"Give me your arm," Anne said in her ear.

Monica let Anne take her elbow, raising her left arm and holding it out to the doctor, whom she had forgotten was sitting there. Then she felt him hold her arm with a pair of latex gloves, and then he was carefully peeling back the sopping satin of her pyjamas.

"Now it's going to hurt a little," Anne said, holding her tight. "But just hold onto me. You don't have to be strong anymore, okay? I don't want you to pretend."

And Monica immediately winced as Doctor Cheung's hands began exploring the damage. At the same time another wave of tears came from nowhere, but this time, unlike for the past entire week, Monica at last felt comfortable in crying them. She had not been able to confess her emotions to her former parents. Equally, she had not been able to cry to Mulder, Scully or even John, as to confess her own trauma would only force them to delve into their own, and they were not even strong enough to hold _themselves _together, let alone carry her enormous pain as well. She had not been able to do it. But now, _now _...

"Shhh ..." Anne said, holding her tight. "It's all going to be okay now. We're going to help you get better, every step of the way."

XXX

Standing around the edge of the eerily empty pool at Quantico, Scully suddenly felt utterly helpless again. Under the strict instructions from Doctor Cheung, no one other than Anne had been allowed in. And so the mad dash from the Hoover building came to an abrupt halt and they were suddenly left with nothing to do but wait again.

"Let's sit down," Deirdre said, taking John's elbow, and with Jenny's assistance, walking him backwards to one of the wooden benches that stretched along the walls all around the pool. Scully noticed that many of the benches were still damp, evidence of the cadets who had been there only half an hour before, as were the wet footprints bordering the pool. But John was not concerned with this, and he was so upset that Scully did not even think he noticed when he sat down in the wet.

"Dana."

Scully felt Charlie tugging on her arm and sighed. There was nothing else to do, and it was incredibly frustrating, to not be able to help. But she understood the rationale. She knew they would have to sit back for a little and let Doctor Cheung do his work. It was not them Monica needed now, but professional help, and a mother to lean on.

She sat down with Charlie on the hard bench, and Mulder immediately joined her on her other side, her mother in turn sitting the other side of Mulder and putting her arm around him.

And then the female changing room door creaked open again, and they all looked up to see SAC Kaminsky, Professor Scott, Agent Stacie Griffin, and Agent Lauren Garnier - who had ducked her head around the door to summon Anne, but then disappeared inside again - finally emerge from the changing rooms. All four of them looked a wreck.

Jana and Kersh immediately stepped toward them.

"How is she?" Jana asked.

The question was directed mainly toward Kaminsky, but he was not capable of answering, and only shook his head, avoiding everyone's eyes.

"I'm going for a walk," he said simply, and looking shell-shocked and dejected at the sheer emotional power of what he had witnessed, he walked around Jana and headed solemnly for the glass doors.

"I'm sorry," Professor Scott said, shaking his head sadly to Jana. "I tried my best, but she's just absolutely petrified. I couldn't even get near her."

"No," Jana said quickly. "You did great. We just needed someone qualified to monitor her, and that's what you did."

Dr Harris joined the circle. "How did she react when you tried to approach her?"

"Violently," he said honestly. "She kicked me, yelled in Spanish. I don't even know what it was, but I think I'm probably better off not knowing. Agent Garnier was the only one she let near her."

"Because I knew Holly and Kim," Agent Garnier said quietly. "She knew I wasn't the enemy."

"You have blood on you," Kersh said suddenly, and Scully followed his eyes to see that, sure enough, the side of Lauren's left hand was covered in Monica's blood.

Lauren sighed depressedly.

"I'd better go clean it," she said. "I thought I got it all."

"Here," Dr Harris said, taking her arm to lead her away. "Use the men's, it'll be empty."

"I'd better get back to the lab," Professor Scott said, and with careful avoidance of Scully's eyes, he followed Kaminsky's solemn path to the doors.

"What about you?" Jana asked, turning her attention to the young Stacie, who had remained silent in the doorway, shivering in her oversized FBI jacket. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Stacie said, raising her head and rushing to reassure Jana.

But Jana was not convinced, and she shook her head as she looked down at the young agent's illogical shivering. "You're going into shock," she said, putting her hand on Stacie's shoulder. "Come with me, we'll get you a blanket."

Jana made eye contact with Deirdre, and Deirdre nodded, indicating she would look after everyone.

"I have some things to check on," Kersh said, and similarly, headed for the doors.

The second Jana had escorted Stacie through the doors, Jenny, who was sitting with her arm around her nephew, said worriedly, "That girl is _so _young. She can't be older than twenty-two."

"Too young to be caught up in this," Margaret added tensely, and Scully looked around Mulder to see her Mom's heart had plainly gone out to Stacie.

"Jana will look after her," Christi said, sitting beside Jenny.

An another unsettled silence descended on the group, and Scully's thoughts snapped immediately back to Monica, and wondered what was going on behind the doors of the changeroom. She wondered how bad the damage really was, if Anne and the doctor had even been able to get near her. But she had heard no screaming, and that was surely a good sign ...

"She's gonna have nerve damage," John said suddenly.

Scully looked across to see John leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, looking ready to cry yet again.

"Her whole hand's gonna be useless," he added tearfully, when no one immediately replied.

"We don't know that yet," Jenny said, tightening her arm. "Let's not leap to conclusions."

But it was a conclusion Scully had already come to, and one she had not yet dared to voice to her friends, who were blissfully unaware of the possibility of permanent damage. For it was surely possible that a cut of that size and position would have involved some damage to her nerves. It was plausible that Monica could now possibly find at least some parts of her hand to be without sensation, might even lack movement. The thought felt like agony, and her heart twisted another few degrees. God, why on Earth had they not stayed awake with her? Why had they not realised, had the plain commonsense to ask one of their relatives to stay on guard during their sleeping hours? They had all known, all the signs had been there, and even a straight ABC warning from Doctor Cheung, back in John's house after Monica's initial collapse. Why had they done nothing, let it come to this? Ignored the warning of the world's top trauma psychiatrist?

The knife in Scully's heart twisted further.

She felt Charlie's understanding arm settle around her shoulders, and with his strength she was able to choke back the tears that were building behind her eyes.

Beside her, she then saw Mulder hastily wipe his own eyes, and Scully forced herself to stay strong, slipping her hand across to his and holding it tight in her own.

"We should've seen it coming, Scully," he said, voice breaking, staring at the wet floor at their feet. "You and me, we've both been trained in psychiatric disorders, and we failed with flying colours. We sent our best friend to the slaughterhouse."

His words did nothing to calm Scully's already rampaging sense of self-blame, and she felt the knife in her chest twist yet again and the tears in her eyes threaten to spill over. Charlie's other hand instinctively came to sit on her knee, joining the arm he already had around her back.

"No one's to blame, Fox," Margaret Scully said softly. "You each have such heavy burdens of your own, you can't possibly expect to be able to see this professionally."

"Then we should've got the help of someone who could," Mulder said dismissively. "Set her up with someone who could talk her through it."

"You know she wasn't ready, Mulder," Scully said.

But down the bench, Scully saw John look up at them. He shook his head with the same insurmountable self-blame she had seen on his face whenever Luke's name came up, and then he said to Deirdre beside him, "We should've called you the second we got to Vancouver."

"You weren't ready then," Deirdre said. "The four of you needed time to adjust. You of all people know you can't force help onto someone. It has to be a conscious decision from them to seek it. Otherwise it has no chance of succeeding."

"Then we should've sought it," Mulder said bluntly. "And we should've helped her in having the courage to do the same."

"Don't blame yourself, Fox," Margaret said emphatically, rubbing her hand up and down his back.

"Only it's true, isn't it?" he demanded, lifting his head and looking down the bench. "Every one of us knew, and not _one _of us had the guts to tackle it."

"_No_," Christi said vehemently. "That's _not _true. She -"

Jack put a hand on her knee and she broke off.

"Mulder, this isn't helpful," Scully said firmly, while feeling herself on the brink of her own breakdown.

"I agree," Deirdre said. "Let's be a little more positive and constructive. The important thing is she was found in time, and even if you think mistakes were made we can now rectify them and move on. Dr Cheung is in there with her - she's in the best possible hands - and if Anne can gain her trust, then we'll be okay. The rest we can work out from there."

"Then let's hope your sister _can _gain her trust," Mulder responded. "Because after being given up at birth, and now deserted by her adoptive parents, I'm doubting whether she's going to be open to risking her heart a third time."

"Anne'll get through to her," Jack said confidently. "Just give them time."

XXX

The heavy silences of endless waiting were suffocating in their intensity. Mulder's accusations still hung unpleasantly in the air, but everyone was determined to not broach the subject of blame again, and were trying their best to heed Deirdre's words of making any conversation happen in a positive direction. Consequently, John had fallen silent again, lost in his own thoughts for which trails of tears were gliding down his cheeks. Mulder, similarly, had also fallen silent, but in a much more moody manner. Scully tried to her best to rise to the occasion, but no matter how much she squeezed his hand or rubbed his leg, he was stubbornly refusing to leave his own world of what-ifs and she did not think he was going to surface again anytime soon. But without his and John's support, Scully felt weakened in her ability to withstand much more of the pressure, and she felt the tears that she had done her very best to keep at bay for the last four hours, finally begin to slip out. She raised her free fingers, hastily wiping one away, but Charlie spotted it.

"Let's go for a walk," he said, standing up and pulling her with him in a manner that left no room for argument. "Come on."

She did not resist the idea, knowing she would collapse if she had to sit there much longer. And she knew as a doctor that Monica, Anne and Dr Cheung would not emerge in a hurry.

Moments later, Charlie had walked her out of the pool doors and they were back in the main carpeted corridor of the wing. Charlie continued to steer her further until they reached the main reception desk, after which he turned them right into a little secluded corridor where a blue couch sat just a little way down from the desk, and together they sat down.

Scully wiped away several more tear drops that had slipped out.

"I thought you might like to get away for a minute," he explained, putting his strong arm back around her shoulders.

Scully nodded, and was yet again grateful for how well he understood her.

"It's come too far," she said, wiping away the last tear that blurred her vision of the carpet at her feet.

"Mulder's words got to you, didn't they?" Charlie said.

"I was already thinking the same thing," Scully confessed. "We shouldn't have let it come to this."

"You're expecting too much of yourself," Charlie said, giving her a squeeze. "I think Deirdre was perfectly right that you weren't ready. You've had a hell of a lot to deal with in a very short space of time. The funerals, your hospital stay, Monica's parents ... and if you had to do it over again, I don't think you could've done it any different. And besides," he added, "like Deirdre says, the best thing we can do right now is learn from any mistakes we've made and move on."

It was wise words, but Scully struggled to compose herself in order to put them into action. She could still feel more tears on the brink of sliding out.

"So let's look at it logically," Charlie said. "As a doctor, where do we go from here?"

Scully took a deep breath and tried to recall her professionalism, which had eluded her for the entire past month. She did not feel like a doctor at all now, it was impossible to look at it objectively, with any degree of detachment.

"Let's start with Monica," Charlie suggested. "As I see it, the facts are that she seems to be craving family. A human connection, someone whose support she can draw on without being afraid of destroying them. Now Anne seems to truly care, so we're lucky that with her, and with the help of Jenny and Deirdre, and all of us, we'll probably be able to pull her through on that front. And that just leaves the treatment aspect."

"She needs help," Scully said. "But if we're going to Atlanta that might be a problem. She trusts Dr Cheung, but he's busy at the Hoover building."

"We'll have Deirdre with us," Charlie said. "Maybe once they get to know each other a little ..."

"Maybe," Scully said. "But in any case we'd better ask for a few possible names of psychiatrists in Atlanta. Just in case."

"Then I'll ask the doctor later. He'll know someone there we can use."

Scully nodded in agreement, and their very first proactive step relieved her of some of the pressure. She no longer felt her tears fighting to spill.

"What about John?" Charlie asked.

"He'll be okay as long as he's with his family," Scully replied. "They went through it all before with Luke. And I feel sure that if any self-destructive thoughts crossed his mind, he'd be perfectly comfortable in talking to them about it."

"He'll need counselling too, though. You all will. That's something we're going to need to give priority to from now on."

"He'll go with Deirdre," Scully said knowingly. She had not failed to notice the ease of familiarity between the two and wondered if Deirdre had counselled him eight years ago, after Luke's death.

"And Mulder?"

Scully felt her strength momentarily leave her as her mind returned to Mulder - whom she had left in such a moody, broken state, being comforted by her mother.

"I'm worried," Charlie said quietly. "Especially after what happened between you in Rhode Island."

It was the first time they had touched the subject of her panic attack, and admitted between them that he knew exactly what had brought it on. Scully felt her nerves falter and did dare meet his eyes, or even move an inch.

When he next spoke, his voice was distinctly awkward. "Did you ever end up ..."

"No, we didn't," Scully said softly.

"Look, Dana ..." Charlie paused and took a breath. His arm gave her another gentle squeeze and he lowered his voice, even though the whole building was empty. "I know it's none of my business, but I'd just hate to see your relationship fall apart because of all this. I think maybe it'd help if you both found time to spend together. Just the two of you, not even John and Monica. Even just five minutes a day, alone, might work wonders. And it doesn't have to be sexual, if you're not ready, just being alone with him."

"That's what Monica said," Scully recalled with a sigh. "She said there are other ways to be intimate. That it's closeness he's seeking."

"I think she's right," Charlie agreed. "He doesn't have family. In many ways you're all he has. It's natural for all of you at a time like this to seek love and comfort from those you trust. And lacking it is exactly why Monica's fallen apart."

"I think you're right," Scully said, suddenly seeing everything clearly. She nodded and tried to muster up her courage, to make more of an effort before Mulder went the same way as Monica. "I'll try."

"And Mom and I will try harder too," Charlie offered. "I think it's best for all of you to have someone you can go to other than each other. We'll help him know he can come to us."

"Thank you."

"And what about your needs?" he asked finally.

"At the moment I'm just worried about Monica," Scully confessed. Nothing else had even had time to be thought about. Monica's survival was all that currently mattered.

"You've mentioned several times about meeting with Father McCue."

Scully sighed. "Yes. I haven't had a chance to get around to it yet."

"Then how about we make that our first step," Charlie suggested. "That by the end of today, we'll contact him and arrange a time."

Scully felt hesitation overwhelm her at the sudden proximity of the moment of having to sit down and confess everything on her mind. In particular that which was in relation to a line of dead bodies in the snow. It was something she needed to do, but it was also something that would be extremely difficult, and somehow it felt safer in consistently putting it off, in making a promise to God but never having to fulfil it.

"I don't know if I'm up for it today," she confessed awkwardly.

He rubbed her back. "But will you ever be?"

Again, Scully hesitated, his understanding silencing her.

"We need to start somewhere," he said gently. "Let's just make a time. If it becomes too difficult, if you feel you're going to end up in trouble like you were in the hospital chapel, then you can always back out."

She wished she could say no, find an excuse, but the logic was too overwhelming and so she tried to take a deep breath and acknowledge that she had to take the first step sometime.

"Okay," she said softly.

"And I think you should be thinking about counselling as well."

"I will," Scully said, the second promise coming easily after the first one. "Like you say, it's something that needs to be done."

"I think once you start it might become a lot easier," Charlie said. "It's just taking the first step."

"We should probably all be on antidepressants, too," Scully said, as a flash of her former doctor self rejoined her momentarily. "It'll take the edge off."

"Then I'll get the doctor to prescribe you some when I ask him about the list of names."

"Yes."

"What about the interview? If you're going to do it, we'd better get the ball rolling soon."

Scully sighed. Somehow, all her previous fears and intense reasons for not wanting to do it had now completely disappeared in the wake of Monica's suicide attempt. It felt so insignificant now.

"After what's happened today I don't care anymore," Scully said truthfully. "If she wants it, needs it, then I'll support her."

"The money wouldn't hurt either," Charlie said lightly.

She met his joking blue eyes and smiled back at them.

There was a slight pause between them, and Scully wondered how Dr Cheung and Anne were progressing.

"We should probably head back," she said.

"Well actually," Charlie said, with an uncharacteristic nervousness that made Scully look up, "before we do, there's something I was hoping I could talk to you about."

Seeing his incredible awkwardness, Scully felt worried, and she automatically reached out to touch his knee.

"What is it?"

"I know this is about the worst time in history to be bringing this up, but ..."

He trailed off, struggling to get the words out.

"You can tell me," Scully said kindly. If anything, she was glad of the opportunity to be able to help him in return, to balance up the support.

"What you said about Christi in the hospital that day," he said at last. "Do you still feel that way?"

Scully tried to remember but came up blank. What had she said?

"About her being out of bounds," Charlie clarified.

All of a sudden they were on the same page again, and Scully felt herself inwardly smile at her younger brother's nervousness, for she had seen it coming over the past week. But she kept a straight face as Charlie went on.

"I know this sounds _incredibly _insensitive at a time like this, and I would never have wished for it happen right now, but I really do like her, Dana. And I think she might feel the same."

Scully could tell easily that Christi felt the same, and thought Charlie's exclusive dating with the world's oceans had left him a little clueless when it came to recognising all the obvious signs - and also the fact that neither their mother, nor anyone in the Doggett family was showing any signs of disapproval and had been throwing smiles at each other behind the pair's backs.

Not recognising Scully's inner amusement, Charlie desperately ploughed on in an effort to explain.

"We've gotten to know each other this past week, staying together at John's house, and I just can't help but feel something. I mean apart from her being the _sexiest _woman I've _ever _laid eyes on, she's also smart and kind and selfless and ... I can't help thinking that a woman as incredible as her isn't going to be single for long. If I let this chance go it won't be long for some other jerk like Mark comes along. You know me, Dana. My entire life, I've never felt this way. My life since I was twenty has been spent on the seas, just home occasionally to see you for Christmas and have a play with Matthew and Lizzie. And up until these last few months, that's been enough. I've felt like I've belonged out there on the water. But for the last year or so, it just hasn't been the same. I don't know why. I don't know whether I'm finally growing old, maturing, but ... I don't feel happy anymore. I haven't told Mom or Bill yet, but my five year term's up in October, and I don't even think I want to renew it. And even though it's been through these horrific circumstances, I can't believe I've been so fortunate to meet someone like Christi, who makes me feel this way. And to feel this way about someone, to have this past week with her, it's so incredible. And I suppose my point in all this senseless rambling is to beg you to let me have a chance."

"You really care for her," Scully said. A part of her hurt to know that Charlie had been so unhappy in his career for so long, and that she had known nothing about it. Had their mother known and concealed it from her? She probably had. The knowledge was painful.

"I do," Charlie said. "I mean I admit we were pretty much thrown together at the start, but it's become more than that now. I feel so comfortable around her, like it's so natural. We make each other laugh. We hang out together late at night in John's house, just watching old movies and talking about each other's lives - her four years with her scumbag ex-boyfriend, all kinds of stories from her teens and teaching career ... and once or twice she's even fallen asleep in my lap."

Scully watched as Charlie's eyes filled with wistful tears and he turned to look her straight in the eye.

"Please don't ask me to give it up."

"You don't need my permission," Scully said, finally letting her smile loose to ease his nerves. She patted his knee.

"It'd be a weight off my shoulders if I had it," Charlie said. "The last thing I want to do is to make you and John feel like we're disrespecting your pain, like we came here just for some selfish physical hankering. I wouldn't have chosen for it happen now, but now it has ..."

"Then don't let the opportunity pass," Scully said. "Mulder and I made that mistake. We waited far too long. And so did John and Monica."

He gave a goofy smile, over the moon with relief but trying to respectfully hold it back as well. Scully smiled even wider at the boyish look on his face. He looked twelve years old again.

"I won't let her down," he said firmly. "I promise you."

"I know you won't," Scully said. Like her, Charlie's relationships were few and far between. In fact, she could not recall him really having any since his teens in high school, and those had not been serious. She had certainly never seen his eyes light up like the way they did when he was with Christi, and there was no way she was going to hold back their happiness, after everything two had done to support them. Scully was eager to give them something in return.

"Do you think John'll kill me?" Charlie asked worriedly, narrowing his eyes, unsure.

"No," Scully said quickly. "Only if you treat her like her ex did."

"_Mark_," Charlie said with disgust, wrinkling his nose at the name. "I still can't believe he did that to her, strung her along for four whole years, making her believe it was going somewhere."

"Well it's history now," Scully said. "And like you say, all we can do is move on."

He smiled, and Scully smiled back. Suddenly she felt so much better than she had only five minutes ago, sitting beside the pool.

"It feels good to have you back in my life, Dana," Charlie said. "I've missed this."

Scully smiled. "So have I."

XXX

"Are you still awake?" Anne asked, breathing the question softly against Monica's hair.

"Yeah," Monica breathed.

Monica was still sitting with her cheek against Anne's shoulder as the latter held her and comforted her against the pain as Dr Cheung worked efficiently on her torn arm. It felt like it had been a long time now since they had drifted into silence. Conversation was not necessary, as Monica still felt completely broken and distraught, was still crying on and off as she rode out the pain, and only wanted to lean against Anne and possibly never leave again. The local anaesthetic and painkillers Doctor Cheung had injected into her arm were not helping in raising her level of consciousness, as she became overwhelmingly sleepy and her eyelids had become so heavy she had long given in and closed them. But she knew her sleepiness and the dizziness that had her head spinning were the cost of having the splitting pain numbed, but it was worth it when the minutes went on and she began to feel less and less, until she could not feel her arm at all and had to open to her eyes to see that Dr Cheung was dressing bandages around her skin and a long row of hideous black stitches.

Monica gulped.

"It's okay," Anne said straightaway, drawing her back to her and wrapping the space blanket tighter around her, cuddling her close. "It's nearly over."

"How long were you a nurse?" Dr Cheung asked Anne.

"Nearly forty years," Anne answered. "You don't have to explain anything, I know the drill. I'll keep a close eye on it."

"Good," Dr Cheung said. "I'm going to stop on the way back to Washington and get you some more painkillers. Now, Monica, I want you to listen closely."

He paused a minute. Monica's eyes had drifted closed again and she had been ready to fall asleep into a land of pleasant dreams, where no one died from plane crashes and people skipped through meadows and lived forever. She heard their voices as a distant conversation echoing somewhere across a perfect blue sky.

"Are you listening?" Dr Cheung asked.

Monica heaved her eyes open again and tilted her head to see Dr Cheung peering at her as he wrapped the end of the bandage around the hand Monica knew was hers but could not feel whatsoever.

"I'm listening," Monica confirmed wearily, struggling to keep her eyes open.

"The medication I'm going to be leaving with you is a fairly heavy painkiller. I need you to understand that it's very addictive, and so I'm going to be entrusting it to Anne's care. The recommended dosage is one every three hours, and that should be enough to take care of the pain, but if it isn't, just say so and we'll adjust your meds to suit. Don't exceed the dosage. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Monica replied, so exhausted she would have agreed to anything just to be able to get to the other side of the conversation and have the freedom to fall asleep against Anne again.

Dr Cheung clipped the end of the bandage down and then reached behind him into his bag and withdrew a sling.

"Now the bad news, I'm afraid, is that we can't yet be sure how well this is going to heal." He paused and looked straight into her eyes. "We won't know the exact extent of the damage until the anaesthetic wears off. I don't think it's too severe - I don't think you've lost any great use of your hand - but I can't make any guarantees. We'll have to test it thoroughly when you get sensation back."

Instantly Monica felt scared. She had not given any great thought to permanent disability. She had known, of course. She was not stupid. But it had not been her intention to come out of the shower stall alive and so she had not planned for the possibility. She could barely remember fleeing there, rushing in in the pitch black and throwing herself down in the most distant point possible, where she thought her friends would never, ever find her. She had not counted on AD Cassidy launching a full search party, or Agent Garnier's initiative in climbing over the wall. She had simply planned to stay there and never open the door again. And then morning had drifted in, she had heard Quantico come alive with cadets, heard the noise from the pool as they laughed and joked, dived and swam, and the happiness and her exclusion from the normal world pierced her, causing her to slide open the blade of the retractable knife she had impulsively grabbed from Mrs Scully's house, and dream of the freedom of not having to feel any agony ever again ...

She could not answer Dr Cheung's statement, but he seemed to understand.

"What we're going to do now," Dr Cheung went on, "is take you back to Margaret Scully's house, where you'll be able to change your clothes and sleep off the effects of the medication I've given you. But before we do that - before we go outside and meet with those who are waiting - I need you to promise Anne and I that next time you get these feelings - the urge to run, to cry, or to hurt yourself - you'll ask for help."

Monica's stomach sank and twisted. Impossible.

"It doesn't have to be a big deal," Anne said, holding her tight, "all you have to do is walk up to me. I'll know. Just wherever I am, whatever I'm doing, just come find me. Do you think you can do that?"

"I think so," Monica said. Put like that, it didn't sound quite as painful.

"And if, for some strange reason, I'm not immediately available, then I want you to go to Jack or Christi. I'll tell them we've had this discussion."

"Okay," Monica said, hurrying the promise before another wave of tears threatened to engulf her.

"We're relying on you to keep that promise," Dr Cheung warned.

Monica nodded, avoiding his eyes as she felt more hot tears slip out. She did not bother to wipe them away, as her cheeks were already completely wet, as was Anne's shoulder.

"It's all right," Anne soothed, bringing her close yet again.

A moment passed, and even amongst her intense dizziness - which was steadily worsening as the medication took hold of her - she knew the time was approaching when she would have to walk out of the changing rooms and face the world again.

"Are they out there?" Monica asked.

"Yes, they're waiting by the pool," Anne replied.

Fear gripped her imagining how her friends would react. It was like a treaty had been broken, like she had breached their trust.

"How are they?" she asked.

"Loving you more than ever," Anne said, giving her another affectionate squeeze.

"I'll go meet them," Dr Cheung said, packing up his things and handing the sling to Anne. "Give me a minute with them first, and then come out when you're ready."

They listened as Dr Cheung's steps retreated up the line of toilets, and then the sound of a creaking door opening as he disappeared to the changing benches on the other side.

Monica felt Anne rub her back.

"Sit up a minute, we'll put the sling on."

Monica sat up and immediately felt her entire body spin with dizziness and fatigue. The world went into a blur.

"Whoa," Anne said, catching her around the waist and steadying her. "Do you think you're going to be able to walk, or should I get some help?"

"I think I can," Monica said, as the dizziness eased and her body became accustomed to being upright again. "I just need a minute."

"There's no hurry," Anne said breezily, unfolding the sling and carefully wrapping it around Monica's arm. "We can sit here for a while yet if you like."

She then adjusted her position to reach behind Monica's neck, where she tied a knot, so Monica's numb arm was resting inside the cloth. Then she came around to sit next to Monica again and folded her arm around her shoulders, drawing her close and pulling the space blanket back up to cover Monica's blood-soaked pyjamas and freezing bare feet.

"Just remember," Anne said. "You _are _a part of our family, and we love you."

The statement caused several tears Monica had been holding back to flow over again, as Monica felt so deeply touched.

"And next time you get these thoughts," Anne continued, "you're going to come to one of us. Come to me, come to Christi, come to Jack, or even Charlie or Maggie. It doesn't matter who it is, as long as you let someone know."

Monica nodded and hauled up the promise from where it was hiding in her throat, dodging her vocal cords.

"I promise."

Anne smiled and hugged her even tighter. She dropped a kiss on Monica's cheek, again causing Monica to shed even more tears as her mind struggled to adjust to the fact that there actually _was _someone other than Mulder, Scully and John who cared about her, and who would not ditch her.

"You have so much to look forward to in your life, Monica," Anne said softly. "Marriage. Children. A second chance at life in which you can do anything you like." Anne sighed dreamily. "You have a lot of fantastic times ahead of you. Don't give up now. Not after all you've been through."

Monica sniffed, trying to stifle the endless flow of tears. But amongst them, Monica's mind registered for the first time the possibility of starting a family with John. To have a baby, a little child that was theirs, dependent on her, a part of her ... Monica's heart ached. To do that she would have to get better, start herself on the long road to becoming mentally stable again. But it did not seem impossible anymore. Not with the support of Anne, Christi and Jack, and everyone else waiting for her outside.

"Let me know when you're ready," Anne said, contentedly holding her close.

And Monica knew that walking outside was the first step on that path. To go back to Margaret Scully's house and turn over a new leaf of admitting to needing help - something all of them except for John had been terrified of.

"I think I'm ready," Monica said.

"Are you sure?" Anne asked, rubbing her back warmly.

"Yes," Monica said, meeting her eyes. "I'm sure."

"Then let's go," Anne said, and with a smile, she helped Monica stand up again, catch her clumsy balance, and then take the first step toward the doorway, to the help waiting outside, and to a new life in which she would face her trauma head-on.

No more running.

* * *

_Wow this chapter is so loaded, I don't know how I got so much in, reading back over it now. The whole thing with Monica, then Scully Mulder & Doggett all acknowledging they need help, the Charlie/Christi dynamic, Monica thinking about marriage & kids with John, and then so many characters everywhere and they all have to have something to do and say! But I feel kinda good, really. This is the turning point in the story - the point where they have finally realised they can't pretend any longer, can't hide in their own world any longer, and need lots of help! It's like the rock bottom part, and it's all up from here. Off to Atlanta, now! Hope you join me there!_


	28. Chapter 28

**_Chapter 57 - Taking the First Step_**

Monica had always felt greatly weakened since hiking out of the mountains, but as she walked through the changing rooms, she felt weaker than ever before. She knew part of it could be put down to the blood loss she had sustained, and part, too, was due to the effects of the medication Dr Cheung had injected. She walked as if in a dream, mind, limbs and soul all in a state of dizzy exhaustion, Anne's maternal arms keeping her on her feet. Monica spotted the wooden benches lining the walls and only wanted to lie down and fall asleep on them, right then and there. She felt so dizzy, so incredibly tired ... her heavy eyelids fell shut...

"Stay awake, we're nearly there," came Anne's voice, and Monica, already forgetting where she was, opened her eyes and was almost startled by the bright light of the change rooms. She wanted to sleep so badly. All that mattered was closing her eyes and letting it take her, as long as Anne's arm was around her and Monica felt secure in her love and support ...

"I'm so tired," Monica complained, desperately trying to explain as the floor blurred in front of her.

"I know," Anne said, giving her another loving squeeze through the space blanket Monica had wrapped around her blood-soaked pyjamas. "We'll just get you to the car, and then you can sleep as long as you like."

"I don't want to be alone."

"You won't be," Anne reassured her, giving her another squeeze as she opened the last door with her other arm. "We'll be with you the whole time."

And then the bright light of the swimming pool hit Monica's eyes. Anne's arm tightened another notch, and to her right she heard urgent voices, and then an abrupt silence followed by John's worried voice: "_Monica _..."

Monica dizzily turned her head to the worried voice and saw John dashing toward her. His whole face was wet, and yet strained with an urgency so full-on that Monica didn't think she could yet face it. He looked as though he had a million things he wanted to ask, and was struggling to hold them back, on someone else's instructions. But Monica did not have the strength to address anything that was written on his face, and the evidence of his recent crying - hours of it, by the look of things - only made her feel an unbearable tension between them. She had betrayed them in sneaking away, she had hurt them and let them down.

Mulder and Scully looked no better than John. Both, too, had been doing a lot of crying. Scully, however, for some reason looked a lot calmer than both the men. All three of her friends were the first to hurry toward her. John's hand landed on Monica's right shoulder, and he peered down into her eyes, trying to catch them. Monica felt Scully's eyes make immediate contact with the sling on her arm, as though seeing through the bandage to examine the carnage underneath. Then she felt Mulder and John, and all their relatives also looking at her arm, and Monica felt more hot tears build up in her eyes. She wished she was back in the shower stall, where no one could stare.

"Let's just go home," Anne said pointedly to the crowd. "We can talk later."

And with the tears that fell from Monica's eyes, she felt another wave of exhaustion overwhelm her, and this time Monica could no longer fight it, as the medication won the battle. Her eyes drifted shut of their own accord, and then she felt the strength of Anne's shoulder against her forehead as the latter caught her in time.

"I'm tired ..." Monica whispered, falling asleep and knowing she would not make it to the car, could not walk another step. She had done what she had to do, had walked out of the changing rooms with the decision to get help, and now she could be honest with them. Her knees weakened and Monica began to fall to the concrete floor beside the pool.

"Shit," John's voice came, urgent and scared. His strong arm latched straight around her waist as she sank to the freezing concrete, Anne lowering herself with her, Monica's forehead still against Anne's tear-stained shoulder.

The world drifted away ... she was floating ...

"It's okay," Scully's distant voice said, calm and in control. "It's just the meds. What did you give her?"

Dr Cheung calmly reeled off a piece of long, scientific medical jargon ... Monica drifted further, her body so heavy, completely out of energy, Anne's arms and her friend's hands all so warm and comfortable ...

And then came Mulder's distant voice, and she could hear him gulp. "My God ... Scully, the blood ..."

But Mrs Scully said, "Shhh", silencing him.

And then came Scully's calm voice again, and Monica felt the woman's hand on her shoulder blades as Anne still held her.

"It's okay. You can go to sleep."

And finally, with their permission, Monica closed the last of the distance to her wonderful land of sleep, even as she felt everyone release her from their arms and another set of strong, masculine arms picked her up. It was the familiar touch of Charlie, and Monica leaned her head against his firm chest and fell asleep in his gentle, strong arms.

XXX

"Bring her upstairs."

Mrs Scully clicked on the lights and the hallway snapped out of its winter darkness. She hurried forward with Anne and Dr Cheung at the front of the party, and led Charlie to carry Monica up the stairs and to the bedroom the survivors had been using. Monica was still fast asleep in the space blanket, the weight of the medication so heavy in her veins that not even the blast of cold wind as Charlie had opened the car door, nor the corresponding raucous from the waiting media could stir her.

Scully knew she would be out of it for several hours yet, and felt both relief and an unabating tension. She knew it was to be expected that Monica would only want to sleep, that it would be a while before she would be able to talk about what had happened, but a selfish part of Scully could not bear to lose Monica to another twelve hours' sleep, and only wished the four of them could sit down as a group and sort out right then and there what had gone wrong. As it was, it was only ten in the morning and she was facing the hardest day of her life.

Mulder's large hands landed reassuringly on her shoulders as they all paused in the living room, watching the two mothers, the doctor and Charlie escort Monica upstairs. Scully knew the first priority would be to change her out of her blood-soaked pyjamas and into something clean. After that, someone would have to stay with her whilst she slept. In the meantime, Scully also knew that the three of them left had priorities of their own. Time had run out, they could play games no longer. They had to take control and seek help. The first, dreaded step.

Jana Cassidy, who had come with them from Quantico, drifted out through the back sliding door to the small courtyard outside, cell phone in her hand. Glancing around, Scully saw that Christi and Jack were flanking John, Jenny and Deirdre nearby. There was silence as they watched where Monica had disappeared upstairs.

And Scully knew what had to be done, but the words were stuck halfway in her throat.

Then Charlie came back down the stairs and he stopped beside her and Mulder.

Eventually, it was Deirdre who dared to break the tense silence.

"When was the last time any of you ate something?"

No one answered her, so it was Jack who filled her in.

"It would have been dinner last night."

"Then let's get you some breakfast," she said, stepping toward John. "You need to keep eating."

"No," John said, shaking her off.

"John, you need to eat," Jenny said kindly. "You're all far too thin and you can't ignore it."

But he _did _ignore her, stepping out from the crowd of family members and slowly crossing the carpet like a dead man looking for somewhere safe to collapse. He found Mrs Scully's floral sofa, and sat down heavily in it. Without a word, Christi went to sit beside him, taking one of his hands in hers.

The sight breaking her heart, Scully went to join them, sitting on the arm rest beside John and putting her arm around his stiff shoulders.

"This can't go on," Mulder said.

"You're right," Scully conceded, and was surprised by how calm and in control she felt. "It can't."

"It shouldn't have even come this far," John said. "I still can't believe she -"

He broke off, tears spilling out again. He gave a shudder. Christi squeezed his hand and Scully rubbed his back.

"She won't get another chance," Jack said comfortingly. "We'll see to that."

"Only it'll take more than that," Mulder said. "Far more."

"How do you mean?" Jenny asked.

But in response, Mulder's eyes only locked with Scully's, and she understood perfectly, even though no one else in the room did. If they were to survive, something would have to change. Otherwise they would all collapse one by one. There was a fork in the road ahead of them. One path was a continuation of what they were already doing. And the other ...

Mulder had crossed the carpet to kneel in front of them. With her free hand, Scully reached for one of his, and they clasped each other's hands tight. She was the doctor, he the psychologist, and it was up to them to make sure that they all toed the line from now on. No more excuses.

Scully took a deep breath, and finally forced the words lodged halfway down her throat the final distance to her vocal cords.

She raised her eyes from Mulder's solid understanding to Charlie's silent puzzlement.

"I'd like to contact Father McCue."

He nodded. "I'll call him."

He turned away, heading for the phone down the hall.

Mulder gave her hand a big squeeze, and Scully was grateful as she felt nervousness settle in her stomach.

"I'm going to ask Dr Cheung for help when he comes down," Mulder said softly.

"Do you think you can really do it?" John asked her, voice still shaking. "Tell him everything?"

"I don't know," Scully confessed. "But I'm going to give it a try."

And John looked from Scully to Mulder, to each of their new steely determination, and Scully waited for him to join them, to stand with them on the new path to actively seeking help.

Silently, Christi squeezed his hand, her blue eyes watching him, as were two other sets of identical blue eyes in Jenny and Deirdre across the room.

Eventually, John raised his teary eyes to look at his Aunt Deirdre, but Deirdre did not even need to hear the question, and she was already nodding and giving her nephew a small smile.

"I'll give you all the help you need," Deirdre said, walking toward them. "All four of you."

John gave her an intense look of thanks, and Scully knew for sure now that Deirdre had indeed helped him through Luke's murder. There was an strong familiarity between them.

"Dana?"

Scully looked up as Charlie re-entered the room.

"He's on his way."

So the moment had finally come. Scully took a deep breath to steady her nerves.

"Let me talk to him first," Charlie said. "I'll make sure he knows what happened in the hospital, so he can stop you if ..."

"Good idea," John said.

There was a pause.

"You can do it, Scully," Mulder said firmly, squeezing her hand.

"I know," Scully said, taking another deep breath. Then, she tested the words, "I can."

Then she added, "We _all _can."

"Do you think you should eat first?" Jack suggested.

"No," Mulder said. "If we don't eat, we can't throw up."

John nodded in agreement. "We'll eat afterward."

"Don't worry," Deirdre said to them. "You're doing the right thing. Just be honest, and everything will be okay."

"Just so long as Monica's okay," John said, shaking his head. "That's all I care about."

Christi opened her mouth to speak, but they were interrupted by a gust of cold air as Jana Cassidy rejoined them.

"I'm afraid I have to leave you for a while," she said, pocketing her cell phone. "There's a bit of commotion at the Bureau."

"You go," Jack said. "We'll be okay now."

"Thanks for your help," Christi said sincerely.

"No problem," Jana said. "Don't forget you can call me anytime, anything you need."

"Actually there is one thing we need," Mulder spoke up. "Something else we have to do."

Everyone looked to him. Scully felt puzzled. What else was there?

"We need to let the media know we're open to offers."

Jana smiled. It was as if she had expected the statement, sooner or later. "I'll get Tony onto it right away. Do you have any idea of what you're seeking?"

"Just a TV interview," Mulder said. "One or two hours, all of us together."

"And a mature interviewer if you can manage it," Scully added.

"And money-wise?" Jana asked.

"Take whatever Mr. Reyes' fortune is and double it," Christi spoke up coldly. "Monica needs to be able to shove that much money up his ass that he has a haemorrhage. Or at least chronic constipation."

For the first time that day, John smiled. Christi grinned back at him.

"Well his fortune is estimated at about 90 million," Jana said.

"Can you do it?" John asked hopefully.

"If anyone can, it's Tony," Jana said. "He spent thirty years in the industry before coming to us. He's the master of persuasion, has contacts everywhere."

Scully felt a sudden fondness for the Bureau Media Liaison Officer they had met at the hospital in Vancouver. It would certainly give him something interesting to do now.

"I think the real question is, can _you _do it?" Jack asked them. "Despite the money, can you really bare your souls on everything you went through?"

"Yes," Mulder said. "Together we can."

Just then the doorbell chimed through the house.

"That'll be Father McCue," Charlie said, going to answer it.

"He can be our test run," Mulder said, squeezing Scully's hand. "For our survival, for Monica's survival, for our recovery."

"For Monica," Scully repeated.

She was the only part that counted.

XXX

They were all gathered in the kitchen around Mrs Scully's table. Christi leaned against the bench with a mug of hot coffee in her hands. Charlie was beside her, slowly crunching his way through a bowl of cereal. But for the most part everyone was silent as their thoughts were locked onto how the survivors were coping.

Monica was still asleep, and Jack had sent Anne down to them for a break, volunteering to stay with Monica himself for a while. Scully, however, was shut in the dining room with Father McCue - a development that resulted in Mrs Scully looking a nervous wreck, not knowing if her daughter was coping, and after Scully's disastrous last attempt to talk to them - which had resulted in a stay in the ICU - Christi could not blame her one iota for being so terrified. She now stood with her arms folded tensely across her front. Jenny was beside her, offering what little comfort she could. But that was not all - as both Mulder and John were off getting their first counselling sessions as well, Mulder in an upstairs bedroom with Dr Cheung, and John in the study with Deirdre.

"Mom," Christi said, putting down her coffee as Anne drifted into the room, looking thoroughly exhausted. Christi pulled out a seat for her at the table and helped her into it as Jenny, too, came hurrying forward.

"How is she?" Jenny asked, pulling out a chair to sit beside her.

"She's in a deep sleep," Anne said, and Mrs Scully went to the kettle, flicking the switch to make Anne a hot coffee. "You know she didn't even wake as we changed her clothes. She's down for the count."

There was a pause as Christi felt a thousand more questions swarming, yet she also felt the need to give her mother a second or two to catch her breath, and so she merely pulled out a chair and sat herself down as Mrs Scully passed Anne the mug of coffee, and her and Charlie also joined them at the table.

"Jack says they're all finally talking?" Anne asked, after pausing to take a sip.

"Yeah," Charlie said. "They just went in, they'll probably be a while."

"How was John?"

"Still upset," Christi said. "But we have to expect that. The shock of it, on top of everything else ..."

"At least he's with Deirdre," Anne said, grasping for a positive aspect of the situation. She turned to look at Jenny. 

"Thank you so much for coming."

"Don't mention it," Jenny said, waving away the thanks. "You're not in this on your own. We're all with you."

Anne gave a sad, grateful smile, and Jenny put her arm around her.

"And you know Deirdre's going to stay with you, help them all work through things," Jenny continued. "She's already divided up her own patients amongst her colleagues. She's taking time off."

"Can she afford that?" Christi asked, immediately concerned for her Aunt. Deirdre was single, she had never married nor had children, but still her work as a psychologist was a good income, and the time it would take to heal the four survivors could be measured in months at the very least.

"She doesn't have to," Jenny replied. "Jana Cassidy has already insisted on paying her. I think they find it a comfort to know that there's going to be someone qualified on hand. Especially considering there's four of them."

"It is a comfort," Mrs Scully said, looking relieved by the good news. "And someone we can trust, too."

"What about you?" Jenny asked Christi. "How much time can you take off work?"

Christi tried to stifle her uneasiness, thinking of her hefty mortgage. "I can manage a few months. I'll have to take unpaid leave, but I should be okay."

"Are you sure?" Anne asked, looking worried.

"Yeah," Christi said. "I have some money put away for the trip Georgia and I were going to take to Europe this summer. I'll cancel, use that money."

"No," Charlie said suddenly. "Don't do that, you're going to desperately need that trip by the time August comes around. I'll look after you. You just tell me how much you need."

Stunned by his generosity, for a moment Christi could only stare, wondering if he'd meant it, if she'd heard right. But she obviously had, as he casually reached across and squeezed her shoulder before settling his arm across the back of her chair. Unable to stifle her grin and the attack of warm fuzzies that had exploded in her chest, Christi avoided the eyes of the other three women at the table, knowing full well the enthusiasm she would find there. It did make her realise, however, that Charles Scully must have a fair bit of money tucked away. After all, he had been in the navy since leaving school, and he had next to no expenses. He lived on cheap base housing near Bill and Tara in San Diego, but from what she had already heard he was hardly ever on land anyway. He had no wife or children to support, and so it was over fifteen years of very satisfactory income that he had quietly invested, the only treat being the presents he lavished on Matthew and Lizzie, whenever he got the chance to visit and play with them.

"You don't have to do that," Anne said smoothly, after a moment had passed. Then to Christi she said, "We can look after you. Don't cancel the vacation, you two have been dreaming of that for years."

It was true. Georgia was a teacher at Christi's school, and the two had been friends for nearly ten years. They operated classrooms that were side-by-side, separated only by folding doors, and they frequently opened the doors and ran their classes together. It was Georgia now who was supporting Christi's temporary replacement, whom she heard was a graduate straight out of college who had not yet managed to secure a full-time job. Christi felt glad that at least one good thing was coming out of the mass disaster - that the young girl was getting some great experience in managing a class for a long term period.

"Well either way," Jenny said. "We'll look after you, Christi, don't worry. Finances are the least of our concerns right now."

Christi's mind lurched unpleasantly back to the long series of questions she wasn't sure she dared to ask. Luckily, Mrs Scully relieved her of the trouble.

"How bad is it?" she asked tensely. "Really."

Anne sighed after taking another sip of her coffee. She lowered her voice a little, as if worried the survivors would overhear. "The actual cut will heal. As for the rest, only time will tell. We're lucky we didn't have to take her to hospital, but there is a possibility there'll be some damage."

"What kind of damage are we talking about?" Charlie asked. "Is it just a little loss of feeling, or will her entire hand be useless?"

"Hopefully it'll be just a little loss of feeling," Anne replied. "It shouldn't be much more, or Doctor Cheung would have taken her in for surgery. So as far as these things go, she's in a good position. But in the meantime it's still going to be quite painful, she'll be living on painkillers for quite a while yet, and she's going to need a lot of help from us. We'll have to help her with her clothes, probably showering, too."

"In my opinion we shouldn't leave her alone for that anyway," Jenny said worriedly. "It's far too risky at this stage."

"We could just send John in with her," Christi suggested.

"Yes, that might be the easiest way," Anne agreed. Then she added, with a smile, "If he can keep himself under control long enough to actually help her wash."

"Don't get your hopes up," Jenny said, smiling. "He might be your son, but he's still only a man."

"I'm aware of that," Anne said. "But we're all adults. I'm not the least bit bothered that they're doing it, only that they're using it as a excuse to not have to deal with their pain. Sex isn't a cure for trauma. That's probably half the reason Monica's in so much trouble now. What she needs is some real TLC to lean on."

"How'd it go with her when you were alone?" Mrs Scully asked.

"It went very well," Anne said. "I just refused to let her push me away, gave her a big cuddle, and she went to pieces in my arms. Then I held her as the doctor worked and she just cried and cried."

"She really likes you," Charlie observed.

"And I love her," Anne said. She paused then, before looking into Christi's eyes and saying, "I told her she's part of the family. I told her I'm going to be her Mom, love her as my own and take care of her."

Christi smiled. It was what she had expected, and the way her mother was looking at her, checking that Christi was okay that she had spontaneously adopted another daughter and added her to the family was extremely touching. But Christi was one hundred percent supportive, and she reached across and put her hand over her mother's, giving it a light squeeze.

"Then she's my sister," Christi said, smiling. "And I'll make sure she knows it."

Anne smiled. "I knew I could count on you."

Christi smiled back.

"But I think the first thing," Anne went on, "is to keep up the constant TLC. It's not enough to simply say it, we're going to have to follow through, show her we really mean it. She's still so unstable, and the next 48 to 72 hours are going to be critical. We still can't leave her alone, even for a second, and we need to constantly hug her, drown her with love."

"No problems there," Christi said. She had picked up on the fact that Monica was a complete sucker for hugs, unlike John, who liked to push people away and make it into a wrestling match until he finally broke down far enough to let her in. Monica lapped it up.

"We need to keep her eating regularly, too," Mrs Scully said, who had been worried that the four were still dodging this essential. "And make sure they all take their medication."

"Definitely," Anne agreed, worried about the same thing. "If either Monica or Dana get any thinner we're in big trouble."

"Don't try to baby Dana," Charlie advised. "She hates it."

"Well we wouldn't have to if she ate on her own," Jenny argued.

"But while we're on the subject," Anne said, looking to Mrs Scully, "I need your help. I know she's a doctor, but under no circumstances do I want her examining Monica's arm. It's still in a bad state, and given how close those two are I don't trust Dana's professionalism will hold. If she shows any sign of wanting to unwrap that bandage, you'd better stop her straightaway. Leave it in my care. I'll check it regularly, and if Monica's in any pain, send her to me. Don't let Dana near it."

"Agreed," Charlie said.

"Absolutely," Mrs Scully echoed, looking like she dreaded the thought. Then, after a pause, she asked, "Do you still want to take them all to Atlanta?"

"If it's all right with you," Anne said cautiously. "I realise it's a bit awkward for you, but I think we can accept it as fact that Washington isn't doing them any favours. It'll be a more stable environment where we live. It'll be more relaxed, and we can focus more on their recovery."

"We have no issues at all with going to Atlanta," Charlie assured her.

"Whatever the four of them want is okay with us," Mrs Scully said.

"Then you can stay with me. We have two spare bedrooms. You can have one, Dana and Mulder the other, and Monica and John can use the sofa bed in the study. Charlie, you don't mind staying with Christi, do you? She's only three doors up, you'll still be close."

"No, not at all," Charlie said casually. His arm was still settled across the back of Christi's chair, and she felt his fingertips brush against her back. Christi was no fool; she knew what her mother was up to. But she was also far from minding - for once she was actually grateful and she loved the thought of being able to continue staying alone with Charlie, having him in her house ... she felt Charlie's fingertips continue to lightly brush her back, just above her bra. So comfortable and yet so sexy. Certainly a gesture Mark had never bothered with.

"When do you want to leave?" Jenny asked, tearing her smile away from Christi and Charlie.

"Tonight," Christi cut in.

Everyone looked at her.

"There's nothing holding us here," Christi explained. "And it'll be best if we sneak out in the dark again."

"In that case we'd better get ready," Charlie said. "We're going to need at least three cars, we'll have to go bring them around here, and get them gassed up ready to go so we'll have only minimal stops en route. And we'll have to see if there's anything they want from their apartments, any clothes or personal items. If they forget something it's not like we can just dash back here and get it."

"That's true," Anne said.

"And what about the travelling arrangements?" Mrs Scully said. "I know they prefer to be together, but I can't help thinking that Monica might need to be with you. Until she stabilises."

"In all honesty I'd prefer if she was," Anne agreed.

"Then do you want to split them up?" Christi suggested. "We can take John and Monica, and you Dana and Mulder?"

"That could work," Charlie said. "But we'd probably have to stop regularly along the way."

"Well we can do that," Jenny said. "Find some quiet spots to pull over in so they can see each other are all right."

"And what about when we get to Atlanta?" Mrs Scully asked. "I know you went through this before with John. Do you know what to do?"

"It was very different then," Anne said. "But Deirdre does have some ideas about what we need to do, the things we're going to encounter. She explained some things to me over the phone the other night."

"Such as?" Charlie asked.

"Well ..." Anne started, and she took a deep breath. "As difficult as it's been so far, as bad as it's been today, we've still only scratched the surface. Obviously ongoing counselling is going to be something they'll all need, probably daily at least. And I don't even know what's going to happen with this interview they're talking about. We'll just have to play it by ear. But I think the thing Deirdre is most worried about is their fame. They haven't had to address it yet, but it's going to become an issue whether we like it or not. When you think about it, they're not even going to be able to take two steps out the door without ending up on the front page of a gossip magazine. There's going to be hordes of cameras tracking their every move for years to come. Even the little things we don't give a thought to are going to be problematic. If you imagine what would happen if any one of them went to walk up the store for an apple ... they wouldn't make it fifty yards without having a panic attack. They'll be recognised, and even if they avoid the media, the public will always be there, offering opinions and endless questions. They're never going to be able to get away from what happened. They'll never be allowed to forget. And they haven't realised that yet - that to some extent this is going to own them for the rest of their lives. There's no such thing as normality any more. And that's something we never had to deal with last time."

"There's other things, too," Christi added. "When I helped John last time, I spent ages just trying to show him how to live again. We had to help him rebuild a new life. And that element is going to be the same. Whatever they do, it's going to be a new direction. I think for the first few days they're just going to need time out. Let them relax a bit, get them acclimatised. But after that I think we should work to slowly introduce them to some life skills. You know, and it is going to be those things you've just mentioned. Helping them to take that first walk around the block, have that first person recognise them. Help them even work out a strategy of some kind for how to face those people. Or even just helping them to manage going grocery shopping without having a breakdown. Right now, if you walked Monica through the meat department she'd probably break under the memories it'll dredge up. And then just getting them gradually to be comfortable being in public again. We could work our way up from going around the block to down the local park, then maybe even a picnic down the track. It's just baby steps."

"You know a lot about this," Charlie observed.

"She was the one who got John through," Jenny said proudly. "She's a natural."

Christi smiled. "My philosophy is that for every bad memory they have, we should balance it with a new good one. So on the one hand we have their life skills, those basic hurdles, and on the other we can help them be happy again and just enjoy life. How to watch a movie and laugh at it. How to walk outside on a fresh Spring day and just appreciate the beauty of the environment around us. How to just enjoy the company of family and friends with a game, have a laugh together. We could play a few board games, work our way up to even going down the park or basketball court and playing something. The possibilities are endless: ten pin bowling, seeing a movie, coping with going to a restaurant, maybe even going camping out for a night when the good weather comes. Just the little things in life, as well as those essential ones to do with their fame."

"You're right, it probably would help to keep them busy," Jenny said. "We don't want them spending too much time wallowing in their depression. Even if it is just in the confines of the house. On the one hand the last thing you want is to rush them into facing the world again - we have to allow as much time as it takes, and do it in those baby steps you mentioned - but on the other you don't want them becoming so idle that their depression only deepens."

"There's lots of little things," Christi said. "It's not what we do so much as our attitude, just the quality time spent with them. Even just doing a little gardening in the backyard would help, getting them out in the sunshine. There's plenty of little ways to keep busy until they begin to find their feet. We could clean out the house, cook some recipes, there's plenty of odd jobs that need doing."

"We could clean out your closet," Anne teased. "You have four lifetimes worth of clothes in there."

"You could loan some to Monica," Jenny suggested. "You could fit two of her in the ones she's wearing now."

"Yes, that's one of my first priorities," Anne agreed. "We have to get her some clothes that fit."

"Well they'll have to do for now," Christi said. "She's not ready to just walk down the shops, it's going to be a slow process on that front."

"You're right," Anne said. Then she thought for a moment and added, "We could probably break up their time spent inside without necessarily introducing them to the harsh world as well. They could come to the op shop with me one day, even if they don't come out the front of the shop. Or we could go to your place," she said to Jenny, "visit Sophie and Brian. That might be a good little start for Monica, Dana and Mulder, introduce them to a stranger who's harmless, give them confidence."

"Who's Sophie?" Mrs Scully asked.

"My daughter," Jenny said. "She's sixteen."

"And she's more mature than most adults," Christi added.

"She's an artist," Anne said. "She has the most incredible talent, you'll have to see her work."

"We'll have to bring Carol around, too," Jenny said. "She wants to see John."

"And he wants to see her," Anne agreed. "As well as everyone else. We'll have to arrange it when we get there."

There was a break in the conversation as the phone rang in the hallway. Mrs Scully pushed her chair back and hurried off to answer it, and a second later Christi heard her say Bill's name. He had no doubt been following the commotion on television, and had now called to check everything was going to be okay. Christi knew there was no way anyone would let him and Tara return to Washington, or even Atlanta for that matter, as the wellbeing of Matthew and Lizzie, and their third unborn child, was the family's top priority. Unbeknownst to the survivors - especially Dana - Matthew and Lizzie had already suffered greatly from their inherited fame, and it was this that had been one more reason that they had hastened their departure back to San Diego. Lizzie had been in the full time care of Tara's parents, and had been kept relatively sheltered by this, as well as her young years. But when it came to Matthew, they had at first tried to keep up his normal routine, and he had gone to school as usual. At first he had handled it far too well, as he was so proud to be related to Dana that Tara's mother reported his head was hugely inflated. But it had not lasted, as soon after at school one of the boys at Matthew's table had listened to Matthew's proud boasting and replied with, "But she _ate _people! Like, for _breakfast_!" Matthew proudly stood his ground and deflected what he saw as outrageous lying, but it had soon descended into a fight. The teacher became involved, and then the principal, and the end result had been that all teachers had sat down with their students and had a talk about it, with a huge emphasis on leaving Matthew alone and not mentioning it in his presence. It was a task that Christi, as a teacher, did not envy. She could not imagine how it would feel to have to sit down with a class of six year olds and explain the ins and outs of why cannibalism had been necessary, and why none of the survivors, or Matthew, should be looked upon unfavourably for it.

The best that could be said was that none of this news had thus far reached Dana, and she was still under the impression that the family were having some quality time together before Bill shipped out again in another week. Christi reflected sadly that sooner or later, Charlie would have to ship out again as well. It was not for another six weeks yet, but the time would come.

Anne drained the last of her coffee and sighed, getting to her feet again.

"I'm going to go sit with Jack," she said. "I want to be there when she wakes."

Charlie also got to his feet. "I'm going to go get the cars ready, fill up the tanks, check the oil and water."

He brushed his fingertips briefly against Christi's back as he stood up and moved past her. Christi smiled at him and watched as his sexy form retreated toward the front door.

Left alone, Jenny suddenly smiled at her from across the table.

"He's an amazing catch," Jenny said softly.

Christi smiled, but she could find no words to describe the strength of what she felt, and in the end, Jenny summed it up in her knowing smile and the wink she shot at her from across the table.

XXX

Two hours later, the survivors were still shut in their respective rooms. Christi encouraged herself to find this comforting, as Dana, Mulder and John had obviously all opened up and were in heavy conversation, otherwise they would have emerged long before now. So the first step had been taken, and been taken successfully, and that was good news. It did, however, leave the remainder of the house in a strange, quiet atmosphere, which after the dramatic morning, felt utterly bizarre now in having nothing to do but sit around the house and wait. Anne still did not want to leave Monica's side, knowing that Monica waking to find her there would go a long way in securing her trust, but after the first hour Jenny had gone upstairs to sit with her, and sent Jack down for a break. Mrs Scully had spent nearly an hour on the phone to Bill and the respective family members in San Diego before heading upstairs to pack herself a case for the trip to Atlanta. Christi understood her need to keep busy; the wait was agony. Nevertheless, Jack had followed Mrs Scully upstairs to double check she was all right before coming back down and sitting at the table with Christi and Charlie - who had long returned from preparing the cars.

But no sooner had Charlie flicked the switch on the kettle again than the doorbell chimed, and he instead went to answer it. Moments later, he came back with Jana Cassidy hurrying in beside him, her arms full with her brief case and numerous files, and looking altogether worn out.

"How are they?" she immediately asked, noticing their absence as she put everything down on the table, though she did not sit down.

"Monica's asleep, and the others are getting counselling," Christi informed her.

"Dr Cheung?" Jana asked, snapping her briefcase open.

"And Deirdre and Father McCue," Christi replied. "They're all in separately."

"Probably best," she answered, but she did not elaborate, and her tone immediately changed as she withdrew a neat pile of papers from her bag. She lowered her voice. "We have the preliminary offers."

Christi immediately felt something shoot through her. Charlie rushed back from the kettle again, and Jack sat up straighter, giving her his full attention.

"And how'd it go?" Christi asked, heart pounding in suspense on the survivors' behalves.

"Well it's just the first round. They'll offer and counter-offer. But so far it's hit 106 million."

There was a stunned silence.

"You're serious," Charlie said, studying Jana's expression.

"_106 million_?" Christi repeated, wondering if her ears had failed her.

"For a two hour interview?" Jack said.

"Not even that," Jana said, smiling at the looks on their faces. "A third of it will be ad breaks. It's only 80 minutes in screen time, and they only have to shoulder a quarter of that each. The money and burden is split equally between them."

"Chequebook journalism," Charlie said, shaking his head in wonder.

"But even so, how the _hell _do they plan to make a profit on that?" Jack asked, completely bewildered.

"Well first of all, advertising rights," Jana explained. "Then there's the fact that they'll sell the interview to about every country in the world. They'll make their share of profit, believe me. The circumstances are _exceptional_, completely and utterly unprecedented. You have the initial factor of what occurred, their obvious bond, the fact that it's two men and two women, the fact that they're FBI, the fact that Agent Scully's a doctor .. the list goes on. In fact, considering what an extraordinary case they are, they should really be asking more. The 106 million is really only 26.5 million each, and they can expect to lose a substantial amount of that in tax. On the whole, it's next to nothing for the profit the winning station will make on reselling it to the world."

"Oh, I don't know," Charlie said. "I wouldn't mind 10 million in my pocket for talking only 20 minutes."

"Well make sure they know that whatever they do, they should think it through thoroughly before accepting. Don't let them be seduced by the amounts on offer. And don't let them sign anything until they've talked to me or Tony, because like I said, these are only the first offers. It'll probably double before we're finished."

"Well if they're all offering so much," Jack said, shuffling through the pile of offers, "how do you expect them to choose?"

"It comes down to the intangibles," Jana said. "The network and interviewer they feel they can trust the most, who they're most comfortable with. We've stipulated that every offer has to state who'll be doing the interviewing."

"What about where?" Christi asked. "Are they expected to be staying here in DC?"

"Well we haven't told them you're going to Atlanta," Jana replied. "If you're going to slip away tonight the worst thing you want is for the media to know it and be on your tail all the way there. But once things are in motion we'll be able to have it down in Atlanta. They'll follow you to the South Pole for a story like this."

Christi nodded. She still felt completely thrown by the figures in front of her, and wasn't sure what to say.

After a moment, Jana said cautiously, "But there are other things."

"What other things?" Charlie asked.

"As their representative, and especially in light of what happened this morning, we've also insisted on a few conditions being met. And these are for both parties. Firstly, we're insisting that a doctor of our choice be present for the entire interview, with full permission to stop it if things get out of hand."

"Dr Cheung?" Christi asked.

"Most probably," Jana replied. "If not him, then I'll insist on Dr Harris. They're the best in their field and I'm not letting anyone interview them without a professional being present."

"I'm glad to hear it," Jack said, looking a little more comfortable.

"And what else?" Charlie asked.

"We're insisting that the interview be overseen by a senior member of the FBI," Jana said. "It's not to interfere, just something we feel is a necessary precaution. The four of them do represent the Bureau, and whether we like it or not the Bureau's reputation is at stake. I'm especially concerned for what the media might make of the survival mechanisms they had to employ up there. Again, we want a senior figure present to intervene if it gets out of hand. As a sweetener, we'll let the four of them nominate who they want. But it has to be someone at the Assistant Director level, at a minimum."

"I can tell you now they'll want you," Christi said. "They trust you more than anyone."

"Well we'll let them choose," Jana said, politely deflecting the compliment.

"Well I can't imagine they'll object to those conditions," Jack ventured. "They're entirely fair points, and it takes a huge weight of concern off our shoulders as well."

"Well I have a few more yet," Jana said, pausing for a breath. "We're insisting on a bare minimum crew in the studio whilst it happens. We're hoping that having as few witnesses as possible might ease their nerves a little. We're also insisting that you, their relations, are permitted to be present for the entire time. Off camera, of course, but you're to be allowed to stay close."

Christi felt enormously grateful for this point.

"And lastly," Jana continued, "we're nominating several topics as being _strictly _off limits. We've ruled out any mention of Monica's parents, or of what occurred last night and this morning. And that includes the bandage she's wearing now. We just don't feel she'll cope with being questioned on it, so we've dictated that the interview has to stick to what happened to them _on _the mountain. If they break this law, the doctor or FBI representative will break it off immediately, and without warning. They're only free to engage in talk of what has happened since - outside of the points I've mentioned - if one of the four of them initiates it. But they are quite free to ask them about the future. We haven't ruled that out."

Again, Christi felt enormously glad, as so much of what was most painful was everything that had happened since their return to DC, and leaving this area solely up to the survivors was a smart option.

"Anyway," Jana said, handing over the stack of paper. "Read over it together, talk it through when they come out, but I need some kind of answer by 9:00pm."

Christi checked her watch. It was just after midday, and that left nine hours, which should be more than enough.

"That should be fine," Christi replied.

"Just make sure you explain our conditions," Jana said. "And don't let them sign anything until they've talked to us."

"We'll make sure of that," Jack assured her.

"Thank you Jana," Christi said sincerely.

"Not a problem," Jana said. "I'm here for anything you need."

She checked her watch.

"But I have to get back to the Bureau again. I have a meeting."

"Sure," Jack said. He got to his feet. "I'll see you out."

Jack went away with Jana, for what Christi knew would be a private expression of thanks for all the conditions she had inserted, and Christi was left alone with Charlie.

"I've never seen a number this big in my life before," Charlie said, flicking through one thick contract and glancing at a table of calculations.

"Well we have to remember that whatever it is, it's theirs," Christi said. "None of us have any claim to it."

"Money can't buy happiness anyway," Charlie answered, nodding in agreement. "And once you factor in the tax, divide it four ways ... they'll probably need every cent if they find they can't work again."

"Which is likely," Christi said.

"Was that Jana?"

They both looked up as Mrs Scully re-entered the room, having finished her packing.

"She brought round the media offers," Charlie replied. He reached beside him and pulled out a chair. "Sit down."

Mrs Scully wearily made her way to the chair, looking not at all excited by the prospect of her daughter being subjected to questioning, no matter how good the financial incentive.

"It's not so bad," Christi said reassuringly. "Jana's gone a long way to protect them. It's better than what we thought."

"A _lot _better," Charlie agreed, squeezing his mother's shoulder. "She -"

But he broke off suddenly, his eyes snapping to the doorway, and Christi followed his eyes to see Scully standing there.

XXX

She showed all the signs of extensive crying: the red eyes, wet cheeks, and slightly awkward demeanour. Father McCue stood at her side, a hand on her elbow.

"_Dana_."

Mrs Scully got to her feet and hurried over, but Scully coped with only a moment of the onslaught of affection, avoiding everyone's eyes and briefly touching her mother's arm in thanks before silently moving past toward an empty chair.

"Well, I'll leave you to talk," Father McCue said, aware of the tension that had sunk over the room. "Call me anytime, Dana. Day or night."

Scully had sat down in the chair next to Charlie, her head lowered a little. Christi saw her mouth open a little, wanting to thank him, but no words came out, and Charlie and Mrs Scully voiced it on her behalf.

"Thank you so much for coming," Mrs Scully said emphatically.

"I'm glad I could be of service," Father McCue replied. Then, looking to Dana again, he said, "Take the best of care. And remember what we talked about."

This time Scully gave a slight nod, but she did not look at them.

Father McCue then went to leave, and Mrs Scully went to show him out. Christi got up from her seat and walked around the table to stand next to Dana, laying one hand softly on her shoulder. Charlie edged his seat closer and slipped his arm around her back. His eyes were studying her, and he said nothing, as if understanding that questioning was the last thing she wanted. Christi followed their lead, and while she kept her hand on her shoulder, she did not force her into conversation. It was not until Mrs Scully returned that Scully finally broke the silence.

She raised her eyes, and with an air of determination to gain control, said to Jack, "There's a cupboard at the top of the stairs. Would you mind getting a blanket?"

"Of course," Jack replied, and disappeared from the room.

"Are you cold?" Mrs Scully asked, reaching to put her hand on her daughter's forehead.

"No, I'm fine," Scully said evenly. Then, catching her mother's worried eyes, she admitted quietly, "It's just talking about it, remembering it ... it makes me feel like I'm still there."

Charlie moved his hand in circles over her back. "Did you talk over everything you needed to?"

"Most things," she said. "But I think counselling for any kind of trauma is inevitably a long process."

"That's okay, Dana," Mrs Scully said, rubbing her back with Charlie. "We understand perfectly that it's a long road. But we're all on it together. We're going to help each other to the end."

"How do you feel?" Christi asked gently.

"I don't know how I feel right now," Scully said.

"Do you feel any better at all?" Charlie pressed gently. "Did it help even a little?"

"No, it helped," Scully assured them. "It definitely helped. But if you ask me if it made me feel good, then no it didn't."

"I'd be astonished if it did," Charlie said honestly. "We know it must have been absolute agony to remember it all, have to express it."

Jack returned then, armed with a pile of four blankets. He took the topmost one and handed it to Mrs Scully, who unfolded it, and then the group of them wrapped it around her.

"Thank you," Scully said, taking the edges in her hands and holding it around herself.

Sensing the curiosity emanating from Charlie and Mrs Scully regarding what she had discussed with Father McCue, Christi squeezed Scully's shoulder.

"Understand, Dana, that you don't have to share anything with us if you aren't ready. We're not here to put pressure on you. You just do whatever's right for you, in your own time. You know when Luke died it was months before John began talking to us about it. I think when these things happen it's a while before we can make any sense of them. Often, initially, all we can feel is overwhelming emotion."

"I can make sense of some things," Scully said, finally raising her eyes to look at the four of them and leaning back in her chair so Charlie's arm fell instead to the back of the chair and Mrs Scully's hand to smooth down her hair. "I understand that it was only bad luck, and that in that sense, there is no reason to be found. When we crashed we did what we could for the wounded. There's no more I could have done for those who died, with what little we had to work with. And I understand that had we not chosen to ... do what we had to do ... then every one of us would have died. There's no question. In those things, where we had no choice, there's no room for regret, however much it hurts. But what I can't reconcile -"

She broke off, and her face became more pained. Fresh tears welled in her eyes.

Only Jack had the courage to press her. "What is it you can't reconcile?"

Scully tried to take a deep breath, but when she spoke on her voice was laced with tears. "... is how I'll ever be able to perform another autopsy. How I'll ever be able to regain that sense of professional detachment, in standing before a dead body and not feeling anything other than my duty. I feel like I've lost my ability to practice medicine, and I hadn't realised until now how much that means to me. And nor can I find a career at the FBI. So many of those offices now are gravestones, and I don't think I ever want to see them again. And even if I could, it has no appeal."

"Dana, it's far too early to think about your future," Mrs Scully said. "You can't expect to be able to figure that out yet."

"And you don't have to work at all," Charlie said. He nodded at the pile of papers on the table. "Jana brought those offers over. The four of you will have enough money that you won't ever have to work again."

"I don't care about the money."

"Look, Dana," Charlie said. "Try to take just one step at a time. Don't try to solve the rest of your life in two seconds flat, you're only going to increase your pain by trying. Your career, what you want to do, it'll all work itself out in its own time. And if you do decide that you want to practice medicine again, then I'm sure that's a goal we can work toward."

She wiped her eyes, appearing to take the point.

"And if something's difficult," Christi added, "it only means we work on it. It's never game over."

"That's right," Mrs Scully added, smiling and kissing her daughter on the cheek. "It's _all _going to be okay."

Scully nodded again, and Christi saw her tears had eased. She looked a little better.

"Do you feel up to eating something?" Jack asked.

"Yeah," Scully said, looking relieved.

"Then what would you like?" Mrs Scully asked, looking happy again. "Name anything you want."

"Just a simple sandwich for now."

She then reached forward and pulled the stack of media offers toward her.

"You might as well fill me in," she informed them. "Now we have the time."

XXX

One by one they emerged. It was Mulder who was next, nearly half an hour later, and he entered in even worse shape than Scully. Scully had been quiet, distressed, but Mulder was completely silent. He was shaky on his feet in the aftermath of reliving the entire experience, and Dr Cheung helped him into a kitchen chair whilst Mrs Scully wasted no time in seizing another blanket off the pile and wrapping it around his shivering form. But it was Scully only who was able to capture his attention, and when she walked around the table, her own blanket still around her shoulders, Mulder, looking breathless and numb with pain, blindly reached for her, seized a handful of blanket at her waist, and tugged her down into his lap. She went willingly, and when he bowed his head into her shoulder she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him tight. They stayed that way for quite a while, each drawing comfort from the other, and when Mulder was finally able to begin pulling himself together he only rose as far as her mouth, seizing her in a long, long, tender kiss.

Mrs Scully glowed at the sight of the two of them sharing such strong affection. Christi was on the point of subtly removing everyone from the room when the two finally broke apart. Then Mulder finally caught his breath, trailed a hand down through Scully's red hair, and said, "You taste like yoghurt."

Scully smiled at the comment. "Apricot flavour. I got hungry."

"It's not bad," he said, trying to joke. "Do we have any more?"

"Plenty more," Mrs Scully said, glad to hear of any sign that they were regaining an appetite.

Unlike Scully, Mulder did not share anything with them. But no one minded, as they understood that he had spent two and a half hours sharing absolutely everything with Dr Cheung, and the doctor looked content enough that they knew it had all gone very well. Mulder's attitude, too, in actively directing the conversation away from what had just occurred also told them that he was all shared out, and all he wanted now was a cosy lap full of Scully.

It was another three quarters of an hour before John and Deirdre emerged. John, like Mulder, looked distinctly the worse for wear and had little interest in engaging in a further debriefing with the family. He accepted a big warm hug from Christi, and then the manly squeeze of his hand his father gave him, and then, after hearing Anne and Jenny were still upstairs with Monica, collapsed in the chair next to Mulder and Scully. The three of them looked at each other for a moment, as if seeing in each other's eyes everything each other had said, and after a moment it was Scully who leaned forward and shared a hug with him. Mrs Scully then insisted he have something to eat, and also made Deirdre a strong coffee.

Ironically, it was Monica who handled things the best. She had already taken her own first step to recovery when she had walked out of the changing rooms with Anne. Her mind made up then, it had been the medication that had struck her down for most of the day. It was over an hour later when it happened. Everyone had been rotating on the Monica Watch. Anne took a brief break to ensure John was all right and shared a tight hug with him and made sure he was eating properly before heading back upstairs with Jack. The rest of them had been engaged in conversation over the media offers, the plans to travel to Atlanta and what they needed from their apartments beforehand, and the news that both Christi and Deirdre were taking leave. John - with identical support from Mulder and Scully - immediately vowed to keep Christi covered financially, as her leave was due to them and therefore their responsibility, but they were further stunned when Charlie, who had been standing next to Christi against the kitchen bench with his arm comfortably hanging around her shoulders, insisted that he was going to do it. Mulder and Scully both smiled at their obvious developing relationship, but John, who had until now been completely oblivious to it, stared with confusion at his sister, and in particularly Charlie's hand that was around her shoulders in a manner that was more than mere good friends. She met his gaze with a smile, and against her obvious joy he could not think of one possible reason to object, and could only share a surprised look with Scully. Seeing this, Charlie's arm only tightened around her, and fell from her shoulders to the more intimate position of her waist.

It was then that Monica appeared in the doorway, supported between the loving grips of Anne and Jack. She did not look as bad as everyone had expected. She was dressed in grey flannel pyjamas, her left arm was still in its sling, but though she looked anxious over the reception she would receive from the friends, there was not a tear in sight. Her eyes swept over the room, landing first on Mulder and Scully, still sharing the same chair, and Mulder's hand now concealed under her blanket and upper clothing to rest on her lower back. Then her eyes went to John, who got to his feet immediately and hurried forward with Christi to meet them, but she froze when she made contact with two new faces in the room - Jenny and Deirdre.

"It's okay," Anne said, giving her a squeeze. "These are two of my sisters. Deirdre, she's a psychologist, and -"

"Jenny," Monica finished softly.

For Monica _did _remember. Luke's funeral came to the forefront of her mind. That hot, dry day in which the Doggett family had said goodbye. Monica, against the advice of her superiors, had gone along to the funeral with two others from the task force. It had been a gut-wrenching day, and one she would never forget. She recalled now that Anne had three sisters - Deirdre, Jenny and Carol. She could still see Deirdre, the professional, who had not moved two inches from John and Barbara's sides the entire day. That had been before their relationship deteriorated into a divorce. And she remembered Carol, too, and her handsome husband. She vaguely recalled a number of children - teenagers at the time, who must be in their twenties now. But it was Jenny who always stood out in her memory. There had been an ornamental lake in the cemetery grounds, only a small way from the church, and Monica had ducked away there for a moment for a cigarette to ward off the breakdown she felt clawing for release within her. She made her way to the bank just as a small girl nearly collided with her. She had been a gorgeous little thing, only eight or so years old, a skinny figure with long brown hair who had been chasing the ducks. Monica leaped back to avoid the collision just as the girl's parents caught up with her - Jenny and her gentle husband Brian. She could even remember what they had been wearing - Brian's black suit, and Jenny's long flowing skirt and white blouse. They had become engaged in conversation, and Monica had come to really like them in the short time they stood there. And she had always remembered those moments, as it had been the little girl who had allowed Monica to see that there was still joy in the world.

"I remember," Monica said. "You had a little girl."

"Sophie," Jenny said, smiling sweetly. "She's sixteen now. She's at home in Atlanta with Brian."

Mulder and Scully and looked a little surprised at how Monica knew them, but then no one had told them the entire story of what had happened in those tragic days. John, too, looked a little surprised. He had barely noticed Monica on the day of the funeral, and it was news to him that she had met some of his extended family.

"She remembers you, too," Deirdre added. "She recognised you immediately when the news first broke."

"You had another sister," Monica said then. "Carol."

"She's still in Atlanta," Anne said. "We wanted to be careful not to overwhelm you with strangers too soon."

Monica knew very well this did not apply to her so much as it did to Mulder and Scully, who undoubtedly would have been quite uncomfortable if every Doggett family member had rushed to DC at the first instance. Monica herself was an extrovert, and always open to meeting new people, with whom friendships quickly blossomed. Whereas both Mulder and Scully were extremely introverted, and took time to get to know people and become comfortable around them.

"Do you remember Carol at the funeral?" Jack asked.

"Yes," Monica answered. "She was married, they had a few teenagers."

"Five," Jenny corrected with a smile. "But they're all grown up now. They only have one left at home."

"You'll be able to meet them when we get to Atlanta," Anne said.

Monica nodded, but the shock of seeing Jenny and Deirdre had now passed, and her eyes fell again to her three best friends. She felt anxious, wondering what they now thought of her. But she need not have worried. As the break in conversation pronounced itself, John stepped forward to her, and with one glance into her fear-filled eyes, he eased her from his parents' arms and took her in his own. The tenderness of his hug - his unspoken message that it was all okay - had her in renewed tears in seconds. He held her in his strong arms, wrapped his blanket hanging from his shoulders around her as well, and cuddled her to him with her bandaged arm between them.

"It's all okay," he whispered in her ear. "Don't worry."

Then, his voice breaking, he added, "We love you more than anything. You hear me? More than anything."

Monica heard a chair creak and then felt Mulder and Scully standing with them. She felt both their hands even through the blanket on her back. And just as Monica was thinking she could stay there forever, Scully spoke up again.

"Let her sit down, John. She's still weak."

John hastened to obey. He let go of her, and then shrugged the blanket from himself and instead arranged it snugly around her. Then with great care, he walked her to the seat he had just left. But Monica, instead of sitting down, nudged him to sit down first, and then she sat on his lap whereby his arms slipped back around her. Christi sat on the edge of the table near them, and leaned down to give Monica a quick hug and a kiss from behind, declaring that she loved her and reminding her of her promise to come to them in future. Mulder and Scully resumed their positions in the chair next to John and Monica.

"It's all right," Mulder emphasised. "No one blames you one bit."

"I think we've all been tempted," Scully said. "I know I have several times in my life, many of them long before now."

"That's why you were stashing the morphine," John observed.

Monica looked surprised by this information, but Scully did not deny it.

"Amongst other things."

Her eyes then fell to Monica's bandaged arm.

"You did it the hard way."

"Yeah," Monica replied softly. "Well Jana took my gun."

"And thank God for that," Anne said. "Or else we would've lost you."

"You probably would have lost all of us," Mulder said.

"When did you think about it?" Monica asked Scully.

"Mainly when I had my cancer," Scully replied. "I wanted to die with dignity."

"Why didn't you go through with it?"

"Because of Mulder," Charlie said knowingly.

Scully looked up at him, and smiled at the full understanding on his face.

"That's right," she said softly.

Mulder's arms tightened around her waist.

It was then that Scully dropped the bomb.

"I'd like to take a look."

There was instant protest from all directions.

"No," Mrs Scully said. "Dana, please don't touch it."

"I wouldn't recommend it at all," Dr Cheung echoed.

But Monica and Scully were united in ignoring them.

"You can look if you want," Monica said simply.

"Dana," Anne warned, and caught Scully's hand mid-air. "It's not a pretty sight."

Scully halted in her aim to unravel Monica's sling, and then looked up at all the people in the room.

"You're right," she said. "You'd better all step out of the room."

"Dana, that is not what we meant," Mrs Scully said firmly.

"She's a doctor," Monica replied firmly.

"She's your friend," Christi corrected.

"Which gives her even more right," Monica replied.

"You're being stubborn," Charlie said, looking hard at his sister.

"And you're being annoying," John replied, the corner of his mouth turning up in a smile.

As if knowing that they would never win when the four of them were so fiercely united, their families backed off, Mrs Scully heaving a sigh.

John reached under Monica's hair and untied the knot in the sling, and then carefully removed it from her arm. Scully then supported the underside of Monica's forearm, and held it out in front of her.

"If you want to turn away, you'd better do so now," she warned.

But not a single one of them did. Dr Cheung came around the table to examine it with her.

"Can you feel anything?" Scully asked.

"Yes," Monica replied, with quiet, almost haunting honesty. "It hurts like hell."

"Where?"

"On my forearm."

"What about your hand?" Scully asked, taking Monica's hand in hers. "Can you feel it?"

Monica looked down at their joined hands. "Yes. I can feel you holding my hand."

John looked relieved. "It's working normal?"

"Yes," Monica replied. Then, with a coy smile, she added, "I'll prove it to you later."

Behind her, Christi grinned and gave a light playful swat on her shoulder, which only made Monica smile even more.

But Scully was wary of premature joy, and instead opened up Monica's fingers so her palm was flat, and inserted a few of her own fingers horizontal across her open palm.

"I want you fold your fingers, one by one, over the top of mine. Squeeze them as hard as you can."

The whole room watched as Monica first moved her thumb, then her forefinger and middle finger, over the top of Scully's fingers. But when she got to her ring finger and little finger, she slowed and face tensed.

"Are you having trouble?" Dr Cheung asked.

"It just hurts," Monica said, tears of pain springing to her eyes. "I think it's still a little raw, that's all. It's straining my wrist."

Scully withdrew her fingers and moved her focus to Monica's ring finger and little finger. She very carefully began probing, squeezing the fingers from the palm to the tip.

"Tell me how this feels."

Monica didn't immediately reply, but watched as Scully worked.

"How's it feel?" Scully prompted.

"It's a little numb," Monica replied quietly. "Just up the side."

Scully let go, and set her fingers carefully down.

Monica looked worried now.

"Will that heal?" John asked.

"Most likely," Scully replied optimistically. "It's still early days. In the meantime you'd be better off using it as little as possible. Don't put any strain on it."

Christi leaned forward and whispered something to Monica in Spanish. Monica, grinning wide, looked over her shoulder and met Christi's teasing blue eyes. Scully, though not understanding a word, knew that it must relate to Monica's earlier comment.

"Where'd you learn Spanish?" Monica asked her, as Scully reached to begin unravelling the bandage to examine the wound.

"Oh, don't ask that," Jack said, with fake dread.

"A boyfriend in high school," Christi replied. "He taught me the basics, and I took it at college later on as well."

Scully caught the looks on her relatives' faces. it was obvious that none of them had liked him.

"He taught you the basics all right," Anne said, giving her daughter a reminiscent look.

"You two can't talk," John said, smiling and looking up at his parents. "She wasn't the one who fell pregnant at eighteen."

"And I don't regret it for a moment," Anne said swiftly, fondly touching his hair.

The news was a surprise to Scully, but she tried to retain her concentration and the conversation broke off as she finished with the bandage and finally revealed Monica's arm. There were gasps around the room. Christi, Charlie, Jenny and Mrs Scully all took one glance and looked away again. John and Mulder lasted a second longer in observing it, but they too, found the sight too much, and looked away. It was neatly stitched, and had been well cleaned up, but it was agony in imagining Monica doing it to herself.

Monica met Scully's eyes. Scully's heart broke, but she was determined to hold herself together. None of their relatives said a word.

Then, eventually, Dr Cheung said, "Well I think that's healing well so far", and the unbearable tension broke. "If you eat something, we'll be able to give you another painkiller, then perhaps we'd better have a talk about these interview offers."

Monica only now spotted the offers stacked on the table. She opened her mouth to speak, but Christi anticipated the question.

"106 million so far."

Monica stared at them.

"You look shocked," Deirdre said.

"How much did you ask for?" Monica asked, turning back to them.

"We specified 90," Mulder filled in.

There was a long pause.

"They're messing with you," Monica said, in a tone as if she pitied them greatly. "You do know that?"

"It's 106 million, Monica," Jack said. "No one's messing with you."

But her look of pity only extended then to their relatives. She looked like she couldn't believe her ears.

"I grew up around wealth," she said at last. "I know how these people operate. They're toying with you."

"Then name your price," John said. "We'll go with it, whatever it is."

Monica looked grateful, as though something might still be salvaged. "We'd be fools to settle for anything less than 300."

Jenny barely had time to let out an awed breath before Monica turned around to look at Mrs Scully.

"May I use your phone?"

"Of course," Mrs Scully said, averting her eyes from the wound that was still showing.

Monica went to stand up, but Anne, looking fondly amused, caught her and pushed her back down into John's lap again.

"Stay where you are," she said. "You're going to eat something first. You can build your vault later."

Monica looked a little exasperated, but she looked even more touched by Anne's care, and in the end she only smiled, and Anne bent down to give her a warm hug and a maternal kiss on the cheek.

"We'll get you all the money you want," she said. "Just _please _eat something first."

And Monica, under the beams of such parental love she had longed for, completely melted.

XXX


	29. Chapter 29

**_Chapter 58 - The Road to Atlanta_**

It was another short night, and the survivors' heads had barely hit their pillows before they had been shaken awake by Mrs Scully, only just after midnight. Monica had not slept at all, but simply lay there with her friends and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling, reliving the entire day again and not believing it had ended so well. It was her who had spent several high pressure evening hours on the phone with Tony McMillan, the media liaison officer, and after a long circus of phone calls going round and round the entire country - between which Monica paced round and round Mrs Scully's carpet - she managed to clinch the deal, her stubborness and experience in dealing with the wealthy corporate world eventually paying off to the cost of a base 310 million, with a further bonus linked to ratings, so if they did a good job, it was close to 400 million that was up for grabs. The verbal deal made, it was now handed back to the FBI to work out the fine print, and Jana had promised them a couriered copy as soon as they got to Atlanta.

"I'm going to grab a shower before we leave," Mulder said, swinging his legs off the mattress as Scully gradually stirred beside him. He looked down at her as she brushed some hair away from her face.

"You go ahead," she said, pushing herself up on her elbows with an exhausted sigh. "I'll join you in a minute."

He pecked her on the lips, gathered a few items from his bag, and then padded off down the carpet toward the bathroom. Monica, sitting on the edge of the single bed, stretched her legs a little and tried to ignore the burning pain in her arm. The painkillers had worn off the last hour or two.

John's arm slipped around her waist, and then to her ass, as he rose behind her, and she tilted her head as he leaned in to kiss her. She gratefully drunk it in, cupping his face with her good hand and feeling that he needed a shave, and then dropping her hand to his bare chest - for she had rid him of his shirt as soon as their families said goodnight hours before. Had Scully not been sitting opposite them, she would have dropped her hand even further, and probably not left the bed at all, but as she heard the door of the guest bedroom click open, and Jack's tired drawl to Anne of, "You sure we've got everything?" and she had to force her mind onto the project at hand: Operation Atlanta. Time was short, and these few hours the city was in total darkness had to be seized, for the media's house arrest would resume at the crack of dawn, and by then they had to be a long way down the lonely highway. She would have to wait till they were settled in Atlanta before she could fully enjoy his company.

"Are you okay?"

John was looking across to Scully, who was still on the edge of the bed and looking down at her hands in a thoughtful silence.

"Yeah," she said, recovering brightly and giving them a reassuring morning smile. She pushed herself up, unzipped her bag and withdrew some items of thick, warm clothing. "I'm going to jump in with Mulder. We'll see you downstairs in a few minutes."

"Don't hurry," John said, letting go of Monica and standing up himself. "If I know my Mom we'll all be eating a decent breakfast before we go anywhere."

Scully nodded absent-mindedly, staring down at the clothes in her hands. Monica recognised this distant, thoughtful look, and wondered what its source was. There were endless possibilities: Skinner, Kim, the cannibalism they'd had to partake in, her sexual troubles with Mulder, her worry over Monica, the interview, counselling ... Monica got up from her position and walked over to her, sliding an arm around the thin cotton of her baggy pyjamas. Instantly she came back to her senses.

"This interview," Scully said, raising her head to give them a level look. "This four hundred million. What are we going to do with it?"

"Pay a shitload of tax," John answered bluntly, pulling some jeans out of his bag and pulling them on over the boxers he'd slept in.

"Nothing changes," Monica said gently. "We'll still be exactly the same people we are now. It's just a few more dollars in the bank, some investments and income to our names. We're not going to splurge it and lose ourselves."

"We'll work it out in time," John said, buckling his belt to hold up his loose jeans.

"It _doesn't _change us," Monica repeated. "We don't _let _it change us. And I think the most important thing to do, for a while, is nothing. We'll have to allow time to be sure of the tax implications, and we shouldn't even be thinking about it until we're all a little better."

Scully nodded. She looked comforted, wary of the hidden evils the money might bring upon them.

"The most important thing for us will always be each other," Monica said softly. "And our families downstairs. That's all that counts."

There was a pause in which Scully smiled and John pulled a t-shirt over his chest.

"Speaking of which," Scully said, eyeing Monica's arm. "You'd better go find Anne, get her to give you another tablet. You look like you're in a lot of pain."

Monica had been carefully concealing it, but she should have known that Scully was far too astute. She once again felt herself under the beams of John's concern, and he abandoned his quest for socks and instead searched the dark room for her sling, to take the strain off the muscles in her forearm.

"And you'd better go join Mulder," Monica said. "Before he misses you."

XXX

"Good morning," Anne said, smiling, as Monica and John entered the kitchen. Jack and Mrs Scully were gathering breakfast for everyone, Jenny and Deirdre were seated at the table, and Charlie was leaning against the bench behind him with Christi leaning against him in a pink coat and very snug jeans, her eyes closed. Monica was struck by how dreadful they both looked. Neither of them must have had any sleep at all. Had she not known that Jenny and Deirdre had spent the night at John's house with them, she would have immediately suspected some romantic activity - but after another moment she discarded the thought entirely. The gentlemanly way Charlie held her, almost tentatively, told her plainly that far from having their first sexual experience, Charlie was yet to officially seal the deal with even a simple kiss, and the two were still in limbo between close friends and romantic partners. The thought made Monica feel sorry for them. It seemed as if it would not be until they reached Atlanta that Charlie would get an opportunity to make his move. But, she thought, at least it was official that Charlie was staying with her, so at least they were guaranteed the time alone they needed.

"Come here," Anne said warmly, reaching for Monica. "Give me a big good morning hug."

"She needs a painkiller," John said to his mother, as the two parted, and she moved to hug him as well. "The pain's been flaring again."

"No problem," Anne said, "but you'd better eat something first. I don't want you swallowing them on an empty stomach."

The two moved to a kitchen chair, and John tugged on her waist to bring her into his lap. She saw him smile at his sister.

"She asleep?" he asked Charlie.

"Just tired," Christi slurred, without even opening her eyes.

"You can sleep in the car," Jack said. "We'll get going as soon as everyone's eaten something."

But Monica couldn't help feeling concerned. "How long has it been since you've slept?"

"A long while," Deirdre answered for them, looking also concerned.

"We slept a little last night," Charlie said. "A few hours."

"And the night before that?" John pressed.

"We'll catch up in the car," Christi said softly.

"Go lie down on the couch if you need to," Mrs Scully said kindly. "We'll wake you when we're ready to leave."

"No, I'm 'Kay," Christi slurred again, and Monica saw the slightest hint of a smile on her lips as she snuggled in against Charlie.

A few minutes later, when Monica and John were obediently tucking into their breakfast, Mulder and Scully emerged from their shower, carrying their bags and dropping them by the kitchen door. Scully took one step into the room before catching the sight of her brother holding Christi and her face split into a smile. She took a seat beside Monica and John, looking genuinely thrilled for them.

"Are you warm enough in those?" Mrs Scully asked, narrowing her eyes at the clothes Dana and Mulder were wearing. Both were wearing jeans, Scully with a light coat over a simple long sleeved woollen top, and Mulder a black t-shirt with a simple pullover.

"We'll be fine," Scully dismissed. "We'll have a heater in the car."

"You're too thin," Mrs Scully pressed. "You should be keeping yourselves rugged up and warm."

"Absolutely," Anne said, turning around from making her coffee and swiftly siding with Maggie. "Go slip on something else underneath. You shouldn't be going outside in that icy wind without taking elementary precautions."

Jenny joined in. "It's only going to take one little sniff and before you know it you'll have double pneumonia. It's not worth the risk."

Monica saw frustration in Scully's eyes, as there always was when she was smothered against her will. Mulder, however, gave in without a fight, and stood up, going to his bag. In doing so, he forced Scully to give in with him, and she rose with eyes of steel to go to her own bag. Both stepped out of the room.

"What about you?" Jack asked, eyeing Monica and John.

"We're warm enough," John said. "We're wearing several layers."

"I'm glad," Anne said, and Monica saw her glance at the back of his neck, where she could see he was telling the truth.

Moments later, as Monica had finished as much as she could of her cereal and worked her way through the queue of medications, Mulder and Scully returned and sat down to a quick breakfast. Mrs Scully and Jack disappeared back into the house to make sure they had everyone's bags and items spread over the house, and before they knew it the dishes were being cleaned and put away, and they were ready to leave. As they all rose from the table, and Charlie gently let go of Christi so he could help carry out the bags, Anne cornered Monica, stopping her with a hand around her wrist, and indicating for her to follow her around the corner into the dining room. The others nodded to say they would wait for her outside.

In the privacy of the dimly lit dining room, Monica found Anne's concerned eyes looking into her own.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"I feel all right, at the moment."

"Have you had any more thoughts..?"

"Not yet," Monica said, deciding to be honest in the fact that she was not completely healed, either physically or emotionally. But the haggling over the media deals had temporarily pushed the whole lot away a little.

"I want you to remember you can come to me," Anne said softly, pushing back Monica's hair. "It's going to be a long drive to Atlanta, so if you feel the need to stop at anytime, to pull over for a while and have a quiet word, have a hug or a cry, or even just a chance for the four of you to have a moment together, don't hestitate to say so. The others know this as well."

Monica nodded. They had heard last night of the plan for the four of them to travel separately - Monica and John with Anne, Jack and Christi, and Dana and Mulder with Charlie and Mrs Scully. The third car would be taken by Deirdre and Jenny. Monica had been surprised by how enthusiastically her friends had agreed to the plan, Mulder's rush to assure their relatives it was a good idea had been an obvious sign of how much she had scared them, and also how well they understood the extent to which Anne's care helped. She felt lucky to have them.

"And there's something else, too," Anne went on. "I'd like you to do a favour for me, if you can."

"What is it?"

"I want you to think about getting some counselling. We didn't mention it yesterday, because we knew what you needed most was a good sleep. But I think you need to consider it now. You know Mulder, Dana and John all took the step yesterday, and while it was hard, I think talking about it did take a lot of weight off their shoulders. Now you know Dr Cheung's going to be down to see us at least twice a week, and Deirdre's going to be with us the whole time. And I know she's my sister, but I'm not being biased when I say she's extremely capable. And she's a kind woman. You'd be perfectly safe with her. And you needn't worry about confidentiality, anything you say to her will stay with her - she won't tell anyone anything without your permission. That includes us."

Monica didn't need to be persuaded. It was part of the decision she had made in the changing rooms with Anne, and the fact that her three friends had gone through it successfully was a help. She also liked Deirdre already, and had no doubts about confidentiality, her capability or her professionalism. She radiated it in everything she did.

Nevertheless, despite the decision, it was still a huge step, and she had to take a deep breath to steady her nerves as she answered.

"I know it's something I have to do," Monica admitted quietly. "And if Deirdre's willing, I'd be very grateful to have her help. I'd like to do it before we do the interview."

"She's willing," Anne assured her, smiling. "I'll let her know for you."

After a moment she stepped forward and Monica was in her arms again, in another one of Anne's calm, soothing, motherly hugs that seemed to make everything hurt less - including the searing pain in her arm which the medication didn't entirely kill.

"And how do you feel physically?" Anne asked, as she pulled away a little, though still held her. "Are you in very much pain?"

"The medication kills most of it," Monica said optimistically. "And Dana said there's a good chance the numbness will still heal. I think it just needs time."

"What about your nausea and dizziness?"

"They're both gone for now."

"Good," Anne said. "If you can keep eating regularly, hopefully it'll stay that way. Your weight still concerns us, though, and your low blood pressure as well."

"It's not forever," Monica said, trying to stay positive, and agreeing with Anne's words that all she had to do was eat. If she tried her best on each meal, her appetite and weight should gradually steady themselves.

"Any sign of your period?" Anne asked softly.

"Not yet," Monica replied, and tried to disguise her own worry over this factor. "But I imagine it'll come back once I put on weight."

"It will," Anne said, spotting her worry and immediately moving in closer to give her another little hug. "Don't worry about it. Just make sure you let me know when it does."

Monica promised, and after sharing another soft hug, Anne put her arm around her and led her back to the front door, where Mulder, Scully and John were all waiting.

"You all right?" Mulder asked.

"I'm good," Monica said, and she smiled as John looked relieved, threw his mother a look of thanks and then swooped to give Monica a peck on the lips. Scully squeezed her good hand, and Mulder her shoulder.

"Well," Scully said, looking out the pane in the front door to the street outside. "We'd better go get in."

"Atlanta, here we come," John said brightly, and put his arm around her as the group left Mrs Scully's house, and headed out into the freezing night to leave Washington behind them. Had Monica known at the time that she would never return, she would have said a more thorough goodbye.

XXX

Monica was trapped in a corner of the crashed plane, hardened snow at her feet, John's heavy shivering body on one side of her and Dana's light one on the other. She could feel the cold of the snow, for hundreds of miles around them in every direction, penetrating through her ineffective clothing, burning her skin and her organs until she was beyond shivering. In a daze, she tossed her head side to side. There was a blizzard outside, she could hear the familiar wind, but there was something else, the sound of puddling water that didn't belong. Someone was using their makeshift bathroom. Was it Mulder? The trickle, trickle ... but no, more than a trickle. It was ... rain?

Monica drifted awake, finding herself in the middle back seat of the Doggett car. First she saw a pair of legs, and she blinked just as her brain registered a heavy ache from the horrible angle she had been sleeping on. A second later she realised it was Anne she was sleeping against, and her body she had mistaken for Scully's in her dream. With a slight groan, she rolled herself to sit up in her own seat again, looking straightaway to John on her other side, and seeing that he was still asleep. In the front passenger seat, Christi was also in a deep sleep, propped up against a pillow, and in the driver's seat, Jack drove on. Outside the car it was daylight, but it was steadily raining, and it was this, Monica realised, that had woken her - the one sound she knew could not belong in her dream.

"Welcome back," Anne said quietly, careful not to wake John or Christi.

"It's morning ..." Monica breathed in wonder. She stared outside at the dim winter's day - the grey clouds that stretched out over the endless paddocks on either side of the road, and on the windscreen there was the steady swooping of the wipers clearing the raindrops. The long stretch of road was deserted except for their own party. Ahead of them Monica could see the Scully car, Mrs Scully still at the wheel, and she glanced over her shoulder to see Deirdre and Jenny following behind.

"You've been asleep over six hours," Jack filled in. "We're over halfway."

_Six hours? _But the daylight didn't lie, and Monica glanced at the clock on the dash and it read 7:24am.

But her astonishment quickly gave way to anxiety, and she craned her neck to try to see Mulder and Scully in the back seat ahead of them.

"They're okay," Jack said softly, reaching behind him to give her knee a squeeze. "They're both asleep. Dana's lying across his lap."

Her momentary fear at only seeing Mulder's head evaporated. Of course, they would be snuggled together. And it was a good thing that they too had fallen asleep. It would have been a lonely six hours if witnessed alone.

Just then there was a groan, and John woke. He gave a heavy yawn, and for a moment seemed just as disoriented as Monica had felt, but one swift glance at the rain outside, the clock on the dash, and the cars ahead and behind, and he seemed to need no questions. Monica had a thought that he must recognise the landscape, and probably knew exactly where they were.

"Must've fallen asleep," he said, giving another yawn and stretching his legs as well as he could in the cramped space.

"You were exhausted," Anne said softly. "You were all out before we even saw the end of Washington."

He turned to look at Monica. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Monica said. "I can't believe I was so tired."

His hand was rubbing her thigh, and she wanted to touch him, but her left arm was still in its sling, and she couldn't reach him with her other. But he read her, and obliged her by leaning in and covering her lips with his. But it was not a lasting kiss, as they were surrounded by his family, and they broke apart with his hand rubbing her upper thigh.

"I'm going to pull over," Jack said, "stretch my legs a little."

With a careful look around him, Jack then sped up and overtook Mrs Scully, taking the front of the line. Only a little farther up the road, he pulled over into a rest stop - a little area beside a deserted crossroads that had a small shelter with a regional map, a few large shady trees that sheltered from the dripping rain, and a toilet.

Mrs Scully and Deirdre pulled the other cars in behind him, and Jack switched off the ignition and opened the door. John, Monica and Anne also got out, leaving Christi still peacefully asleep in the front. Jenny went to the toilet, Deirdre, Anne, Jack and Mrs Scully gathered in a circle under one of the large trees, and Charlie, after seeing that Christi was still asleep and looking disappointed, went to join them.

Monica, however, leaned against the side of the car, grateful for the chance to stretch, and gazed out at the endless paddocks in every direction, where rain was still dripping on the wet fields. The emptiness of it all, being so far away from crowded Washington, lifted her spirits greatly. John stepped in front of her, his hands cupping her hips.

"Come 'ere."

And with one side of his mouth turned up in a smile, he leaned in and gave her the good morning greeting they'd both wanted earlier. Their mouths open from the start, the kiss was relaxed and yet passionate, and his warm body moved in to press hers against the car behind her. Unseen by the family members on the opposite side of the car, Monica felt John's palms sink to her behind, and he reacquainted himself with this territory as she chanced slipping her good hand under his coat as well. She craved the chance to take it further, and her heart sank as she realised that time was still a long way away. But she settled for the kiss as it sank into a blissful rhythm, until she heard Mulder's cheery voice break the peace.

"Let Scully know if you need a hand with his fly. We're here to help."

"_Mulder_."

Monica's smiling broke the kiss, and John's hands fell away, his left rising again to her waist. He looked amused, and looked around to see Mulder and Scully standing only feet away, Mulder with a teasing grin on his face, and Scully looking apologetic that she hadn't been able to shut him up in time. Her slightly ruffled hair betrayed the fact that she had only just woken. Monica couldn't resist glancing over her shoulder to check the family's reactions, but saw they were safe: they had all moved to the map under the shelter and were gathered around it, Jack pointing to various points and tracing the highway down to Georgia. Deirdre was the only one who didn't bother pretending, and looked around to shoot them a wink.

Mulder nodded to them. "Can we hug her now?"

"You could've waited your damn turn," John said, only half teasing.

"Your sister could've died of starvation trapped in there until you were finished. I thought Southerners were gentlemen."

Monica looked behind her, and sure enough, it was Christi's door they had ended up against, and Christi was now wide awake, and grinning from ear to ear. Monica felt herself go red, knowing Christi had just had a full view of John groping her behind pressed up against her window. She quickly stepped back and opened Christi's door to let her out.

"Sorry," Monica said, feeling heat burning her face.

John echoed her apology, reaching to help Christi out of the car and shut the door behind her.

"It's okay," Christi said, laughing it off. Then in Spanish, she added to Monica, _"I'll protect your love life if you protect mine."_

She gave a wide smile, roughly tied her fluffy blonde hair up into a ponytail, and Monica saw her blue eyes make their way over to Charlie, who was looking at the map, sleeves pushed up, talking seriously with Jack. Monica grinned at her in return, just as Charlie spotted her and gave a delighted, "Hey!" which Jenny echoed with a fond, "Sleeping beauty awakes."

Christi smiled as she made her way over. "Sleeping beauty?"

"No, not sleeping beauty," Charlie said, meeting her halfway and putting his hands lightly to the waist of her pink coat. "I see no sleep. It's _entirely _beauty."

And with that, he lowered his lips and pressed a light, gentlemanly kiss to her cheek. Christi glowed.

"Oh, boy," Scully said lowly, in a voice akin to a cringe.

"I presume that means you don't want him besmirching the Scully name with that kind of mush, huh?" Mulder asked, the teasing smile still on his face.

They watched the exchange between Christi and Charlie as he asked how she was, she replied she was a little stiff, and looking concerned, he proceeded to step behind her and massage her shoulders. Monica could see Anne, Jenny, Deirdre and Margaret all struggling to suppress their smiles.

"She's got him hook, line and sinker," John added in a hushed voice, turning back into their circle. "She's got his full attention, has him pledging his bank account, and they ain't even kissed yet."

"He would have if he had the chance," Monica said, feeling sorry for him. "It's our fault they haven't had a second alone."

Monica stole a glance at the pair again. Charlie was now sitting on the hood of a car, Christi in the V of his legs, giving her a thorough massage and whispering in her ear. She was all smiles.

"I'm going to make a prediction, Scully," Mulder said suddenly. His tone was serious now, and Monica saw the FBI profiler in him come shooting through the surface. It was the shrewd look in his eyes that often sent a chill up her spine.

Scully sensed it too, and her look was wary. "Do I want to hear this?"

"He'll propose within the week."

Monica, John and Scully all stared at him.

Scully recovered first. "He hasn't even kissed her yet, Mulder. And in another six weeks he's back with the Navy. If they're setting themselves up for anything, it's heartache."

She sounded sad, and it was reflected too in the look on John's face. Monica knew them both extremely well, and could tell that despite all the older sibling bluster, they were both fully supportive and could tell as well as Monica that the two were a perfect couple, and though they would never admit it, they wanted it to happen just as much.

"You said his term finishes in October," Monica said. "It's not that far away."

"Eight months," John said. "And look at how much our lives have changed in just one of those."

"It hasn't all been for the worse," Monica said, thinking of the relationship she had with John, and even more so the relationship the whole four of them shared.

Scully gave a sad, understanding smile. "No, it hasn't."

John put his arm around her, gave her a squeeze. "It _definitely _hasn't."

But there was a sadness in Scully's expression. She looked up at John. "I'd be honoured to have Christi as a sister. You know that."

John nodded, and in an equally quiet voice, admitted, "And I'd be damn honoured to have a Scully as a brother. _And _you as my sister."

Scully's eyes shone as she smiled at him.

"You'd be family," Monica said.

"_We'd_ be family," Scully corrected swiftly.

"We're ready to leave when you are," Jack called.

A million new possibilities had been flying into Monica's mind, but Jack's voice brought her back to reality.

"We'll be right there," John said.

"Actually," Mulder said, looking a little awkward, "if it's all right with you, I might see if I can ride the next stretch with Deirdre."

"Not a problem," Scully said quickly, observing the look in his eyes. Her hand took his, squeezing it. "We'll take Jenny in our car."

"No," Monica said, feeling alarm rise within her. "We're not leaving you by yourself."

"We'll jump in with you," John instructed, leaving no room for argument. "Jenny can go with my family."

The deal was done, and Mulder slipped away for a private word with Deirdre.

"I'll be back in a minute," Monica said, noticing the toilet was free.

"Do you need a hand?" John asked, nodding at the zip on her jeans.

Monica had forgotten, and she blushed, remembering how John had helped her get all her clothes on that morning.

"I think I can manage," she said. "They're loose enough."

"Don't lock the door," Scully instructed, looking worried.

John gave her the same look. "If you're any longer than thirty seconds we're kicking it down."

XXX

The car arrangements didn't go entirely to their plan. Deirdre gladly took Mulder, Jenny happily got in the other car to allow them to talk privately, but when Monica, John and Scully were all gathered in the back seat and ready to leave for the next leg, there was a delay in their relatives joining them as the group gathered under the shelter talking in whispers. A moment later, it was Christi who slipped into the driver's seat, with Charlie in the front passenger. Monica, sitting in the middle between John and Dana, could think of several reasons why their families had conspired it this way, and the excuse Christi gave that she was the one who knew the road to Georgia was not one of them.

Wide awake now, Monica could well appreciate how much of a long distance drive they had embarked on. The paddocks rolled on either side of them, the endless stretches of dripping fence bordering either side of the road, and the birds gliding over the wet fields, picking up worms that the rain had flushed to the surface. John appeared relatively content. His hand was settled on her thigh again, rubbing up and down every now and then, and on her right sat Scully, gazing out the window, in deep thought. This look always worried Monica, and after ten minutes of enduring it she slipped her good hand into Scully's and gave it a squeeze.

"Are you okay?" Monica asked her.

Scully's blue eyes broke away from contemplating the horizon and met Monica's. She did not answer, and her expression was all the answer Monica needed.

Monica held her hand tighter.

"I'm sure Mulder's fine," Christi said, glancing in the rearview mirror at Deirdre and Mulder in the car behind.

Scully did not reply, but Monica suspected that it was not Mulder that was occupying her thoughts. It was rather the endless painful memories they all held that had lulled her into a depressed silence. After a moment, she leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes.

Charlie looked around his seat, looking worried, but Christi put her hand on his arm, her experience with trauma telling him it was okay, to let her go ...

The time and the miles crawled on, sometimes in conversation, more often in a comfortable silence. Christi reminded them to tell her if they wanted to pull over, but as long as Mulder was talking with Deirdre they were content to press on. It began to rain lightly again an hour later down the road, putting a fresh layer of glistening water over the grassy fields. And another half hour after that, when it finally eased to the occasional dripping, Christi pulled the car off the road near a huddle of trees so the group could take a break.

"Not too far to go now," John announced, scanning the surrounding countryside. To Monica, each mile was the same as the last, and she couldn't tell how he knew. He had obviously travelled this road dozens of times before. Monica, up until the time of the crash, had been a flier. Long road trips had never held much appeal, unless the destination was a remote getaway with a man of _huge _appeal.

"Are you okay?" Monica asked Mulder, as he emerged from the car behind him.

"I'm fine," he assured them, as the members of Jack's car, too, came to join them under the roadside trees.

"How's your arm?" Anne asked, holding a drink bottle and coming to join them.

"It only hurts a little," Monica replied.

"You must be due for your meds," Christi observed, taking the drink bottle from her mother and raising it to her lips.

"Dana?"

It was Mrs Scully's voice, and Monica looked up to see that both Mulder and Mrs Scully had gone to meet her upon getting out of the car, but Scully had apparently ignored both of them, and had sombrely walked around the front of the car and was heading for the trees and the fence. She was not crying, but looked upset.

"Oh, _Scully _..."

In a flash Mulder was jogging after her, and he caught up to her once she'd reached the fence. He slipped his arms around her small frame. Monica could not hear what it was that he whispered to her, but she did hear Scully dissolve into tears against his chest. Her heart broke in two.

Monica felt someone's arm around her, and then Christi's voice in her ear.

"It's okay. She just needs a little release."

Jenny and Charlie stood with Mrs Scully, who looked in enormous pain, like she could not take much more.

"Don't stare," Deirdre said quietly, rubbing John's back. "Don't make her feel like it's something to be ashamed of."

Monica forced herself to tear her eyes away, knowing Deirdre was right that if they all stared at her like she was a freak, it would do nothing to encourage Scully being open and honest with them, and comfortable in admitting her feelings. It was better to take it in their stride, to accept any crying as natural, to make no deal out of it.

"I'll take care of it," Deirdre said calmly. "You swallow your meds, have something to eat."

Deirdre went to join them, carefully approaching, and a moment later, helping Mulder lead Scully to a nearby tree, where there was a dry patch of grass at its base where they sat her down. Deirdre sat with her, put an arm around her shoulders while she rode out the tears.

Monica struggled to not watch, but Anne was keen on acting natural, and handed Monica and John a muffin to eat and Monica another painkiller to swallow.

Jack made small talk about how there was not so much distance to go. They were nearly to Georgia.

Seeing this didn't distract either John or Monica, Anne put her arm around her son again, leaving Christi still warmly holding Monica.

"Just relax," Anne said quietly. "You know it's to be expected that you'll all shed a few tears, and there's nothing wrong with it. It's just a normal part of the healing process."

"I don't care," John said bluntly, shaking his head and looking past his mother to where Scully was finally calming and Deirdre wiping her eyes with tissues. "It still hurts like hell to see it."

"Of course it does," Christi said gently. "You love her with all your heart. You're all a part of each other, absolutely and completely. But I think it's beautiful. Not terrifying, or upsetting. Just beautiful."

"It's why the media's paying you so many million," Anne said. "The state of the world these days ... the love you share is such a rarity. You're an inspiration to everyone who hears of you. You lift people's spirits, give hope to millions."

John shook his head. "We just wanted to get the hell out of there. We're not heroes."

"You don't have to be a hero," Jack said. "You just have to let them see what we do. The absolute best of humanity."

XXX

**_Chapter 59 - Atlanta_**

"Home, sweet home!" Anne said cheerfully, unlocking the front door of their property on the outskirts of Atlanta. It was a large house, two storeys, with a rolling green front lawn and a quiet, leafy, middle class neighborhood. Anne opened the door and waved everyone in, while Jack, Charlie and Jenny insisted on bringing in their bags for them.

"Oh, it's beautiful!" Mrs Scully said, smiling as they stepped further into Anne and Jack's home.

Monica was in whole-hearted agreement, and understood in a flash why Anne had thought this a better place for the four of them to heal - and why John had been so keen to bring them all here. The living room and kitchen area were large, white, bright and airy. The carpet was incredibly soft underfoot, and Anne's taste in furnishings was impeccable. Everything was neat and clean, but had a stamp of personality on it that made it truly feel like a home. There were many photos of John and Christi lining the walls, and one of the whole family prominently above the television, and there were a few pieces of art and craft, including one framed cross-stitch signed by Anne that said, "Home is where the heart is." To one side of the living room was a set of stairs that led to the second floor, and on the other was a set of glass sliding doors that led outside onto a patio area, where there was outdoor furniture to lounge around in, a barbeque, and an inground swimming pool. Monica made her way over to the doors, and looked out into the spacious green garden beyond the patio and pool. It was clear that Anne and Jack had put a lot of love into the place.

Monica turned around just as John slid his arms around her shoulders. He looked incredibly happy, and Monica was doubly glad that they had come, and wondered only what had taken them so long.

Across the room, Mulder and Scully were also looking around. Scully looked much better now. She had ridden the last past of the trip into Georgia in Deirdre's car, and whatever Deirdre had done or said had done a lot of good. She looked her normal self again now. Mulder, too, was better, and the two were holding hands.

"I'm going to call Carol," Jenny said, making her way to the phone on the kitchen wall. "Let her know we're here."

"We promised we'd call Jana, too," Mrs Scully said.

"Not a problem," Jenny said happily, pulling a number out of her purse. "I'll do that for you."

Jack moved to the wall, turning the central heating on to ease the chill in the air.

"Come upstairs," Anne said. "I'll give you the tour, show you where you're sleeping."

At the top of the stairs was a long corridor and Anne led them along, pointing into open doors - her and Jack's own room, the bathroom, the linen cupboard if they ever want extra blankets, and finally to the guest rooms at the end. First she showed Mrs Scully to her room - an average sized room with a single bed and a large window overlooking the rear garden. Anne promised that she would clean out some drawers for her, but first continued the tour on to the next bedroom, which Christi pointed out was the one that used to be hers, before she moved out and bought her own house three doors down.

"Yeah," Jack said. "Watch out, the wardrobe's still full of her junk."

"There's not that much in here," Christi said, opening one door and scanning the contents, which Monica noted was mainly clothes, though also a few old soft toys that obviously had sentimental value, two boxes, and a few bulky items she had never got around to moving - including a fold up treadmill.

"There's plenty of room in your house," Jack said with a smile. "Why you need to store it all here, I don't know."

"I'll get to it," Christi teased him in return. "I have plenty of time now I'm on leave."

"Have you fixed that yet?" Deirdre asked, moving with Jack to put Mulder and Scully's bags down beside the bed.

"Not yet." Christi checked her watch. It was mid-afternoon. "I'll have to leave in a minute, go sort it out. Pick up my things."

Monica noticed there was a touch of sadness in her voice. She clearly loved her job.

"It means a lot to us that you're doin' this," John said sincerely. "I don't know we could do it without you."

Christi looked truly touched. "You would've done the same for me."

Next up was the study, which was next to Mulder and Scully's room and would serve as John and Monica's. It was slightly smaller than the bedrooms, but it had a nice window, an elegant desk, and a double sofa bed which Jack immediately began to fold out for them.

"It doesn't look like much," he said, throwing the cushions aside. "But it's extremely comfortable."

"I'll testify to that," Deirdre said. "I've slept on it a few times."

Jenny entered the room. "Carol and Dave are on their way over. Jana says she's at the Atlanta Field Office now and will be here within the hour."

"That was quick," Charlie observed.

Christi checked her watch again. "I'll have to get going. I'll try to be back by the time Jana gets here."

"Take your time," Deirdre said. "We'll be fine."

"Say 'hi' to Georgia for us," Anne said.

"I will," Christi said. "Be back soon."

She left. Anne ducked into the corridor for a moment and returned with some sheets and blankets that she began to use to make up the bed, with Jenny's help. There was a set of wide drawers to one side of the sofa bed and Jack went and began pulling out some items so John and Monica would have somewhere to put their clothes.

"By the way," Anne said, "as long as you're staying here we have a few house rules."

John raised an eyebrow.

"First," she said, and she threw a smile directly to John and Monica, "If you want to get romantic, make sure you close the door."

Monica grinned, tried not to blush as she remembered Anne walking into the laundry when John and Monica had got carried away and neglected to close the door last time. But she was still enormously grateful that Anne was treating them as adults, knew they were in a sexual relationship and did not mind in the least - so long as they remembered to close doors.

"That goes for you, too," Jack said, throwing Mulder and Scully a smile.

"Understood," Mulder said, smiling back and looking amused. His hand was roaming Scully's shoulders as she leaned against the desk.

"And secondly," Anne continued, more seriously, "If you want to cry, you don't cry alone."

Monica felt the weight of this statement in both the words and the hopeful look she gave to all four of them.

"We fully understand that you're going through something extremely difficult, and we're with you for everything you're going through. When you feel upset, we want you to lean on someone. If it's nighttime, I want you to wake someone. Wake us, wake each other, but don't try to cope alone and have it engulf you. We love you far too much and it'd break our hearts if anything happened."

"We promise," Monica said, and she meant it. She saw Scully give her a slightly surprised look, as it had been Monica who had breached everyone's trust at Mrs Scully's house in Washington in slipping away. But it was Anne who had shown such extraordinary love and affection toward her afterward that Monica felt she could live another fifty years and never be able to make it up to her. Anne had promised to love her, had held her the whole time, was still hugging her all the time now, being her mother and making sure she was all right, every step of the way. And no matter what Anne's house rules were, Monica was ready to live by every one of them.

"And there's one more," Deirdre said, and her tone changed to even more serious. She glanced out the bedroom doorway, making sure Christi had gone. "We didn't want to say anything til now - there was no point, and you had so much on your minds already - but we've been having some trouble with Mark, Christi's ex."

"The one who broke up with her?" Mrs Scully said.

"Yes," Jenny said, with an ugly scowl on her face that Monica found totally incompatible with her sweet nature. "Dumped her for another woman two days before you all went missing."

"What's the trouble?" Scully asked, looking suddenly alert. John, too, gave his aunts his full attention.

"He's been trying to track her down," Deirdre said. "Before we joined you in Washington he was calling us, showing up at our houses, wanting to contact her. He put on an almost believeable facade at first, left roses for her, asked us to pass on messages saying he was sorry and hoping she'd call him. We didn't, of course. We told him she's not interested, that he blew his chance, and that she has other priorities now."

"And what happened?" Mulder asked. "Did he get violent?"

"Yes," Deirdre said. "He appeared on Carol's doorstep again, saying he knew we were in contact and demanding to have the number. David - our brother-in-law - told him he wasn't welcome and to get off the property. Mark hit him, there was a scuffle, but he left. That's the last we've heard, so far."

"Was he hurt?" John asked quickly.

"No," Deirdre said. "He was lucky."

"Does Christi know this?" Monica asked, unable to believe what she was hearing.

"She knows he's been trying to contact her," Anne said, who was strangely quiet. "She doesn't know about David, though, and we'd like to keep it that way."

"So the third rule is," Deirdre went on, "that he is _not _welcome on any of our properties. That includes here, Christi's house, my place, Carol's place, and Jenny's. Don't even open the door to him. Preferrably don't even mention his name."

"I'll punch his lights out if he comes anywhere near her," John said viciously.

"I'll give you a hand," Charlie said, eyes filled with hatred.

"You think he's a gold digger," Scully concluded. "In it for our money."

"We think so, yes," Jenny said. "He completely abandoned her, and then when you were found, became famous and now the money on offer ... I suppose he thinks that anything you get, you'll be giving a share to Christi, and that if he goes back to her ..."

"Fabulous," John said. "Fuckin' fabulous."

Mrs Scully looked bothered by his swearing, and John apologised, heaving a sigh. Monica knew how he felt, and moved to put her good arm around him.

"He won't get a cent," she said. "We'll make sure of that."

"Absolutely sure," Scully promised.

There was a pause.

"Anyway," Jenny said. "Let's not be bothered by it. She's not going to go back to him, so it's only a matter of time before he gets the message and leaves us alone. We just thought you should know."

"Thank you," Monica said.

"Well," Anne said, making an effort to cheer up, "What do you say we go downstairs and get a late lunch?"

XXX

Anne pointed out other things on the way back down to the kitchen: the laundry basket for their dirty clothes, Jack's laptop with an Internet connection that they were welcome to use anytime, and finally a shopping list scribbled on a notepad on top of the fridge.

"If there's anything you want, just jot it down," she said, picking up the list while she scanned the contents of her fridge. "And don't feel awkward if it's something private, I'll ask no questions."

Just then the doorbell rang.

"That'll be Carol," Jenny said, and rushed off to answer it.

"Where's our famous nephew?" sang a jolly voice, and John smiled as Carol and David came into the room.

Carol wasn't as tall as her three sisters, and neither did she have the same stunning figure, but she was alike in her face, had the same bright blonde hair and clear blue eyes as the others, and a cheerful, outgoing, positive personality that was hard to resist. David was a tall and handsome man with a beard. He carried a cat cage in one hand, which he set down on the carpet. Ahead of the couple ran a beautiful golden retriever, which made a beeline for Jack, who knelt down and gave the dog a big pat.

"JOHN!" Carol said, beaming at him. She came across the carpet and spread her arms. "Give us a hug!"

John, beaming as wide as his aunt, crossed the carpet to her and the two hugged tight. His eyes were alight with happiness, and Monica saw this reunion was part of what he had been craving since hiking out of the mountains - seeing the family he adored.

"You've got nine lives, you have," Carol said as she pulled away, then pressed a firm, loving kiss to his cheek that showed how terrified she had been when he was missing.

"It's good to see you," John said emphatically. "I didn't know if I ever would again."

"Ah, we never doubted it," Carol said proudly. "You're a born survivor. And we knew all that military, police and FBI training would count for something."

"John," David greeted, beaming and holding out his hand. John seized it, and wrung it. "We can't express how relieved we are to see you're okay. You had us all absolutely terrified."

"I had _me _pretty terrified," John said. Then he turned to the rest of the group. "Carol, David, I want you to meet Monica, Dana and Mulder. This is Dana's brother Charlie, and her mother Margaret."

There was an exchange of polite greetings. Monica found herself being hugged enthusiastically by Carol, who whispered in her ear that she was glad she was okay, and David kissed her on the cheek.

"And who's this?" Mrs Scully enquired, heart going out to the golden retriever by Jack's side, whose tail was wagging like a fan on full speed.

"Jack's dog," Anne said. Then in an undertone, she added to Monica, "He officially christened her 'Buster', but I prefer to call her 'Gorgeous'. Carol and David looked after her for us."

"And this is Christi's cat," David said, crouching down and undoing the door on the cat cage. In a blur of black and white, the cat sped off across to the far couch, disappearing in the tunnel between it and the wall.

"Shy of strangers," Jack explained. "She lives between here and Christi's house, depending on where the best deal is at the time."

Monica bent down to greet 'Gorgeous', and beamed as the dog enthusiastically greeted her in return. She was very well trained, and did not jump or leap up, but sat quietly wagging her tail, soft eyes begging for attention. Mulder knelt down beside her to also get acquainted.

"Speaking of Christi, where is she?" Carol asked, looking around.

"She had to go into work," Anne replied. "Sort out her leave."

"We brought something for you," David said to Scully and Charlie, and he reached over and pulled out a boxed wooden chessboard from Carol's handbag. "A little bird told us you're a couple of chess prodigies. Thought you might have more use for this than we do."

"Wow," Scully said, sounding surprised, but recovering quickly. "Thank you. That's very kind."

"So tell me, how's Joy?" John asked, and Monica suspected Joy must be one of Carol and David's five children - Christi and John's cousins. "When am I gonna get to see everyone?"

"That's up to you," David said. "You tell us when you're all ready."

There was a sensitivity in his expression, and in the quick exchange of looks he shared with the other family members, that told Monica that despite all the cheerful appearances, Carol and David knew well what was going on, and that while John longed to see everyone, they were very conscious that crowds of strangers might put too much pressure on the other three fragile survivors. Monica knew that while the return of the two pets had been the excuse for their coming over, it was really to have a quick reunion with John before sensitively backing away again for their wellbeing and recovery. But Monica, whilst understanding the view, was overwhelmed by the change that came over John, the way his eyes came to life, his extreme happiness at being in Atlanta again, and with his family. And family was not something Monica was going to stand in the way of.

"Invite them all over," she told John, as she stroked the dog's golden coat. "We'd love to meet them."

"Are you sure?" he asked, searching her eyes, then Scully's and Mulder's.

"Absolutely," Scully answered for her. "They're your family."

"They're why we're here," Mulder echoed.

"Uh ..." Anne said awkwardly, "make sure you're sure. We have a big family, and it couldn't just be my side. Jack's want to see you all as well."

But Monica looked up into John's eyes and said, "They're your family and you love them. I'd be honoured to meet every single one."

Everyone looked at each other. Monica looked back to Anne.

"Invite them over tomorrow night. Jana said the interview will probably be recorded around noon, seeing everyone in the evening will give us a goal to look forward to."

"Are you sure?" Mrs Scully asked, looking a little worried.

"Yes," Mulder said, leaping to her support. "I think you're right. Maybe it is time we actually celebrate the fact that we actually got out alive. A party might do us some good."

"And a chance for you to celebrate all that wealth you're gettin'," Carol said with a grin. "At least you won't have to worry about money."

John nodded to himself. The spark of life was in his eyes. "So we're havin' a party?"

Scully nodded. "Straight after the interview."

She gave Monica a sideways look, and in that look Monica knew Scully had spotted Monica's other motive: that John had been the most opposed to doing the interview, and the best way to get him through it was to have the reward of a celebration with all of his loving family on the other side of it. He was doing the interview for her, and they would all embrace the party for him. It was the give and take of love.

* * *

_This story was always going to have three phases - the initial Washington funeral phase, the Rhode Island phase, and the Atlanta/Gradual Recovery phase. Of the three, this is the one I am most excited about. I feel so, so good about it now! This section itself wasn't very much - it was one of those parts that's just an A to B, setting things up for the future, introducing the house setting, dog & cat, Mark, briefly Carol & David - but I feel there were some nice moments in it. And once the interview's over, the story should get a nice relaxed, more domestic feel to it. At least an end to the dramatic cliffhangers of the last two phases. I'm feeling optimistic!_

_Please, please feedback. Even if it's just one or two words to say you're still reading/liking ... I can't say how much it helps in giving me motivation to sit down and write more. I've been in such a slump lately (as you probably noticed by my record six week break),_ _but a little review takes me a long, long way. It's pathetic to beg, I know, but there it is! I can't really do this on my own._


	30. Chapter 30

**_Chapter 60 - Surprise, Surprise_**

It was a quiet night. Lying in bed in the dark, with Monica naked and curled up beside him, John reflected that he had long forgotten what a peaceful neighborhood it was here in Atlanta. He had been so used to the hustle and bustle of Washington, with its constant rush and intensity, whereas here he felt completely at peace again, and his situation took on a sudden clarity now they had evacuated the suffocating fog of Washington.

Of course, there was always the possibility that his activities with Monica had significantly contributed to his present state of contentment. The previous afternoon and evening had flown. Jana Cassidy's visit, in which she had brought around the contract and gone through it with them line by line, had been the focal point of the evening. Eventually, they had all signed it - Monica willingly, Mulder and Scully dutifully, as though it was no different to any other report they had signed and not worth up to 400 million, and John scribbled his own signature feeling the full weight of their commitment. Jana had also suggested they have a small rehearsal before the real thing, which would involve them going through a few probable questions and drafting answers, but the thought of doing the whole interview twice had been impossible, as once was impossible enough, and they had politely turned her down. But John's state of unrest had lasted for several more hours, until he finally went to bed, and Monica slipped in beside him with a smile on her lips and a sparkle in her eye, and began kissing him passionately. They had made love twice - the first time with Monica on top - hurried and urgent - and the second, a little later, with John on top, slowly making love to her, taking his time to savour the moment and the feel of her. After that, though, Monica was thoroughly exhausted, and had fallen asleep almost straightaway, leaving John to lie awake, holding her in the moonlight that shone around the curtains.

Lying there in his state of peaceful contentment, as the minutes and hours rolled by, John reflected on everything that had happened to them. He especially found himself reflecting on everything that had happened to Monica. He had never doubted that he himself would be okay - he had been through all this before - but Monica had been struck by several deadly lightning bolts and it was a miracle he still had her beside him. Of course, a large slice of the credit he knew went to his mother, who had adopted her and whose love had caused Monica to bounce back so well it was amazing. John thought again that when they got their hands on their money, he was going to spoil his whole family rotten - and make sure that Scully's family were spoiled too, whose efforts were perhaps even more incredible, considering they had none of the trauma experience his own family had. And then, as Monica rolled over in her sleep and draped herself over him, bare breasts against his side, he thought of their future. With everyone's love - and especially with his mother's - Monica would pull through. As for the rest of their future - their careers, even where they lived, it was undecided. But neither did he have a drive to sort it out. For he was so content like this. He had his family, he had the strong friendship of Mulder and Scully, and most importantly of all - he had the love of Monica. And those things were all he needed. But in all the otherwise uncertainty and confusion, there was one thing he knew for sure. One thing that Monica craved, that he too now craved with all his heart, and that he had in his power to fix...

The plan shot into his mind like an electric drug, and as the dawn crept in, he leapt out of bed, covered Monica with blankets, and silently hurled clothes on with dizzy excitement. A second later he was down in his parents' kitchen. He spotted the phone, and hesitated. Should he call first? But no - he couldn't afford for anyone in the house to overhear, and he instead reached to a rack of keys, grabbed the spare to Christi's front door, and hurried outside.

It was a crisp winter morning, but the sky was clear, with a pale pink glow gently waking the sleepy neighborhood. The streets were clear, but John nevertheless hurried the three doors down, nervous someone would spring out and recognise him - especially the media. But at last he made it to Christi's door safely, threw the key in the lock, and let himself in. Her place was in a mess. He caught a glimpse of her dining table as he ran for the stairs, and saw it was littered with newspapers from when they were missing. On top of the newspapers was a map of Canada. But he paid no more attention as he jogged up the stairs, so alight with excitement, like an adrenaline overdose, that he had dashed for her bedroom door and had already thrown it open before he remembered Charlie.

Too late.

"SHIT!"

Christi gasped with terror at the sound of an intruder, she threw herself up from where she had been draped naked over Charlie, her hand snatching the blankets and holding them up to herself before her terrified eyes recognised him.

John held his hands up. "It's okay!"

She was panting slightly, her blonde hair ruffled. Her eyes went from startled to stunned disbelief. "John?"

"Sorry, I -"

He suddenly felt like a fool. Why hadn't he rung, or used her doorbell? Somehow his deliriously excited brain had bypassed the possibility that his sister and Charlie might have consummated their relationship. But it appeared they had, and the evidence was everywhere. Not only were they both naked - Christi with blankets hoisted to cover her breasts, Charlie stirring beside her, blinking and inclining his head to see the source of the commotion - but their clothes from the day before were littered all over the bedroom carpet and his eyes also swept over a condom wrapper on the bedside table.

"I'm sorry," John said again, excitement fizzling as he felt like a complete idiot. "I didn't mean to -"

"It's okay," Christi said, her expression softening.

Charlie sat up, still blinking as he woke. "What's the matter?"

Christi's eyes were studying him with concern. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he said. He thought about turning around and leaving them alone again, but now he had already ruined their morning he thought he might as well press ahead. "I just wanted a word."

He felt a little on edge, but his sister's expression only softened again, and she said, "Okay. Just let me put something on."

He left them alone, retreating back down the stairs. As he reached the kitchen again he heard a "meow" and saw Christi's black and white cat - Princess - making her way over to him over the tiles.

"Hey," he said. He crouched down and Princess rubbed against him, purring her heart out. He stroked her fur and she leant her head against his hand. John scratched her cheek.

"I think she's hungry," came Christi's voice, and John looked up to see her descending the last few stairs, dressed now in her pink flannel butterly pyjamas and thick white socks. She joined them, giving Princess a tickle under the chin. "Are you hungry, hmm? Let's get you something to eat."

She opened a cupboard and withdrew a packet of cat biscuits, then crossed to the bowl on the floor and emptied a small pile in. Princess began crunching her way into the pile, and Christi stroked her fur before standing up again, putting the biscuits away, and then crossing to John and putting a hand on his arm.

"So talk to me," Christi said. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I'm sorry I interrupted you," he said, feeling guilty. "I didn't think."

"You weren't interrupting anything," she said comfortably, leading him over to her sofa and sitting him down. "We were only sleeping."

He chose not to debate the point. But he couldn't miss the way Christi looked so light and happy, like she didn't have a worry in the world, and it lifted his heart to see her glow.

"Things are workin' out then?" he asked.

She grinned. "Oh, yes."

He nodded. "I'm glad."

"So am I," she said happily. "But I doubt that's why you came over here."

He nodded again, summoned his nerves, then blurted, "I need your help. We've got the interview in a couple of hours -"

"You'll be fine," she said, patting his arm.

"There's somethin' I need," John explained. "Somethin' I have to get. Need your help with."

"Just name it," Christi said simply.

John took a deep breath.

Christi narrowed her eyes, looking suddenly more alert. "John, tell me."

He took another breath, told the butterflies in his stomach to settle.

"A ring," he said. "I need to get a ring."

Christi's clear blue eyes widened, nearly popping out of her head.

"I'm gonna ask Monica to marry me."

XXX

"Monica, relax."

Monica felt Scully's eyes boring into her as she paced Anne's living room in her pyjamas. Where on _Earth _had John gone? It was possibly the biggest, most important day of their lives and he had mysteriously disappeared off with Christi. They had left a note, reassuring everyone they were all right, but the total lack of explanation only caused Monica to worry even more - as the only explanation was that John had obviously got some last minute nerves, had gone to Christi for help, and that his state seemed to be bad enough that she had hijacked him for a calm down somewhere, actually telling them they would meet up with them all at the studio.

Jack patted her arm as he walked past. "As long as he's with Christi, there's nothing to worry about."

"Exactly," Mrs Scully said, crossing to the sofa with a cup of coffee. "It's just a little quality time to ease a few nerves."

"Then why didn't he wake me?" Monica asked. "He should've said goodbye, or at least left a proper explanation."

"He probably couldn't bring himself to wake you," Charlie said. He was sitting opposite Scully, engaged in a game of chess on the coffee table between them. Scully herself looked so relaxed it was almost infuriating - she was lying across the couch in her pyjamas with her upper body in Mulder's lap, arm propping up her head as she studied the battleground before her. Mulder had his socked feet sitting on the coffee table beside the board, and he was holding Scully in his arms and looking every bit as relaxed as she was.

"I don't know how you can act so relaxed," Monica said, stopping beside the couch and looking in utter disbelief at her friends.

"I don't see any great cause for concern," Mulder said. "He's with Christi. They left a note. Do you think she's untrustworthy?"

Monica felt a stab of irritation. "You _know _I trust her, I'm just -"

"In love," Charlie finished, taking one of Scully's pawns and lining it up beside the board.

Monica sighed, not knowing whether to smile or slap him.

"I'll give Christi another call," Jack said. "Triple check for you."

Monica felt grateful, but the words made her wonder if she was perhaps paranoid after all. Anne had already called Christi straight after reading the note, and Christi had already confirmed they were fine. But she had refused to say what was going on other than that they had gone for a morning walk. Monica was not that much of a fool.

Monica waited at the kitchen bench while Jack talked on the phone.

"... You sure he's all right? Monica's really worried here ... Yeah, put him on ... John, it's Dad, tell us what's going on." There was a long pause. "Yeah, I'll put her on."

He held the phone out for Monica.

"John, where are you?" Monica asked.

"We've just gone for a walk," John said, sounding quite at ease and not the least bit upset or agitated. "It's a nice mornin', thought we'd soak it up. I didn't wanna wake you."

"You should've," Monica said, feeling a little annoyed.

"You were lookin' far too beautiful where you were."

Monica's heart warmed. She couldn't help smiling.

"I just wish you were here," she confessed quietly.

"We'll meet you at the studio," he said. "I'll arrive in one piece. It's all gonna be okay."

"What are you up to?" she asked. She did not believe for one moment that John had felt like a walk, or that he should rush down the road to enlist Christi for the cause.

"I'll explain everything when I see you. Just stick with Mulder and Dana. Look after each other. I'll see you in a little while."

"Okay," she said, sighing and feeling resigned to the fact that he was not going to give anything more.

"And Monica?"

"What is it?"

"I love you with all my heart."

Monica smiled, the remainder of her anger and disappointment evaporating on the spot.

"I love you, too."

The phone clicked off.

"You see?" Mrs Scully said, bringing her empty coffee mug back to the kitchen. "_Nothing _to worry about."

"That's right," Anne echoed, putting an arm around her shoulders. "Now come on, we'd better get you ready. You're going to be on international television in a few hours, you need to shower, get dressed, and then we need to do your hair and makeup."

Monica tried to concentrate, but it was hard without John.

"Come on," Anne said, giving her a squeeze and walking her along. "I'll give you a hand."

XXX

"The studio is just through here," the young assistant said, leading the pack along a dark corridor. Monica felt edgy. She had hoped to see John waiting in the main office out the front, but he was not there, and the staff reported that he and Christi had not yet arrived. As if understanding this, Anne rubbed her back as they walked.

"No one else is here yet?" Mrs Scully asked the assistant, as they approached the door with a bright red sign that red, _Caution: Recording May Be in Progress_.

"We have a few others here," the assistant said. She checked her watch. "You'll have about ten minutes to talk before we begin preparations, brush up your make up, go through the program ..."

Monica glanced at Mulder and Scully. They both looked determined to put on faces of composure, and it was only because Monica knew them so extremely well that she could identify a glint of nervousness in their eyes. But to anyone else, they were the perfect picture of FBI agents. They were both wearing their normal FBI suited attire with identification pinned to their chests, and Scully had a guarded, intimidating look hoisted on her face as if she was about to question a suspect. Monica, too, wore a suit that Anne had helped her put on, but for the first time she felt the presence of the bandage on her wrist, and the sling she still had to wear. She felt strangers' eyes lock on it to as they walked past. She tried to maintain the same level of professionalism, but still all she could think about was John's absence. Christi had messaged Anne, saying they were only a few minutes away, but Monica's nerves remained jumpy.

"Just through here," the assistant said, smiling as she held the door open for them.

Monica walked through the door first with Anne. They were standing at the top of the stairs at the rear of about eight rows of seats for the audience. Down in front was the stage with blue interview sofas ready, and Monica recognised a television crew, Jana Cassidy and Dr Cheung. But there was also several other people she had never expected to see: Bill, Tara, Matthew and Lizzie, and two plump people who could only be Tara's parents.

"Oh, no," Scully said softly.

"Jesus Christ," Charlie echoed.

"_Bill.._" Mrs Scully said in whispered horror.

All eyes locked onto the kids. _What the hell were Matthew and Lizzie doing here?_

"AUNT DANA!"

The two small sandy haired children had been on stage with their parents and grandparents, being entertained by a cameraman who was letting them look through his camera and even inviting Matthew to trial zooming it in and out. But as they spotted the rest of the family standing there, they launched themselves forward in a thunder of stampeding feet, and dashed up the stairs toward Scully, Charlie and Mrs Scully.

"SURPRISE!" Tara called cheerfully, following her kids up the stairs.

Scully hid her real emotions and smiled as her niece and nephew launched themselves at her, both slinging their arms around her waist and hugging her tight.

Behind them, Monica saw John and Christi enter through the open door. John's eyes beamed until he spotted the kids in Scully's arms. The two stopped still.

"We're not stopping," Tara's father said softly, as the rest of the family caught up. "They just had to see you." Then louder, to the kids, he added, "We're on our way to the zoo, aren't we?"

Lizzie, a tiny girl of three, dressed entirely in pink, nodded shyly in agreement.

"We're going to see the elephants and giraffes and the monkeys," Tara's mother said happily, making it sound like an exciting adventure and far preferrable to hanging around in a boring studio with boring adults.

"Say hello to Uncle Mulder," Tara urged, nudging the kids gently. Lizzie obligingly went forward and gave Mulder a neat kiss on the cheek as he bent to greet her.

"Where's mine?" Charlie complained, tugging on Lizzie's sleeve.

Smiling from ear to ear, Lizzie crossed to her fun Uncle Charlie and he swept her up in his arms and gave her a big squeezy hug. He held her with one arm and with his other, put his arm around Matthew. Monica could see that the two kids had a fantastic relationship with their Uncle Charlie. Her heart melted at the kids' adorability - especially Lizzie.

"I want you to meet some people," Charlie told the kids. He pointed to each person as he introduced: "This is Monica and John. They were lost in the mountains with Aunt Dana and Uncle Mulder. And these are John's parents, Anne and Jack, and _this _-" He smiled up at Christi, and she at last left John's side and came over to the group, "- is 

John's sister, and my girlfriend, Christina."

"She's your girlfriend?" Matthew repeated, goggle-eyed.

"Yep," Charlie said proudly, smiling up at Christi, who returned his smile, though neither were smiling as widely as Mrs Scully and Anne.

"What do you think?" Charlie asked Matthew conspiratorially, man-to-man. "Isn't she beautiful?"

"Yeah," Matthew conceded, giving Christi a shy smile.

"She's _really _pretty," Lizzie said quietly, in plain adoration at first sight.

"Why don't you go give her a kiss," Charlie said, letting go of both kids. "She's part of the family now."

Christi knelt down, and beamed from ear to ear as both kids went and gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Lizzie sat herself on Christi's bent knee and tugged on Christi's coat.

"Aunt Cwistina," she said softly.

"You can call me Christi," she replied, drawing the girl in close and hugging her warmly.

"Well, Aunt Cwisti," Lizzie tried again. Then she caught sight of Charlie and Scully's smiling faces and leaned in to whisper to Christi, though it was loud enough that everyone heard anyway. "Are you and Uncle Charlie going to get _married_?"

"Slow down, Lizzie!" Tara's father said genially. "They've only been an item for 24 hours!"

But Lizzie looked up hopefully into Christi's eyes. Christi put on a mock thoughtful look, though her dancing blue eyes betrayed her amusement.

"Hmmm. Well I don't know. Between you and me, he hasn't asked me yet." Then she whispered back, equally conspiratorially, "Do you think we should?"

"Yes!" Lizzie said, nodding enthusiastically. "'Cos ... 'cos you're really pretty, and you're _nice_."

"Awww, thank you," Christi chimed, kissing Lizzie's cheek. "And you know what? I think you're really pretty and really nice, too."

Lizzie's eyes lit up. Delighted, she then popped up from Christi's knee and went back to Charlie, tugging on his hand.

"Uncle Charlie?"

"No, you can stop now Lizzie," Tara said. "Uncle Charlie might not be ready to propose."

"But -"

"And neither's Uncle Mulder," Tara's mother finished, throwing Scully and Mulder a smile.

"Anyway, we'd better get going," Tara's father said, checking the time. "Did you bring the gift we brought for Aunt Dana?"

"Oh, yeah," Matthew said, and he dashed off down to the stage, and ran back with two large bunches of colourful flowers. "This is for you," he said, handing one to Scully. "To say you're ... you're ..."

"Brave," Bill reminded him.

"To say you're really brave," Matthew repeated. "And ..."

He looked up at Tara, forgetting.

"And to wish her good luck," Tara filled in.

"And to wish you good luck," Matthew repeated.

"Thank you, they're beautiful," Scully said appreciatively. She reached to give both Matthew and Lizzie hugs.

"And who's the other bunch for?" Bill prompted him.

Monica was surprised as Matthew came to her with the other bunch.

"For you," he said, holding them out.

"Wow," Monica said, caught off guard. "They're amazing, thank you ..."

"We chose them," Matthew said. "Lizzie and me."

"Lizzie and _I_," Mrs Scully corrected.

"Lizzie and I."

"And what else?" Tara reminded him.

"And to say that you're really brave, we wish you good luck, and we hope your arm gets better soon and that you all stop feeling sad."

"Thanks. I doubt there's any way I _could _feel sad now," Monica said, not entirely untruthfully. Both kids were so naturally charming, well behaved and adorable and it was impossible not to be cheered by them.

Matthew beamed back at her.

"Well, gang," Tara's mother said, reaching out for the two kids, "we'd better get going. Say your goodbyes."

There were goodbyes with hugs and kisses all around. Lizzie ducked back to Christi again for another big hug. Then, Tara's parents led the kids to the rear door of the studio, on their way to their fun day exploring Atlanta while Mom and Dad stayed for the interview.

Scully waited until the door was closed, and then turned to Bill. "I'm surprised to see you all here."

"You didn't think we'd miss it, did you?" Bill joked, but looking genuinely surprised that Scully could think they would miss this day of crucial support.

"I didn't think you'd bring the kids," Mrs Scully said, still looking a little unsure at this move.

"They had to come," Tara explained. "They were beginning to feel a little left out. They had to see Dana, even just once, be a part of the family."

"But don't worry, they're fine," Bill assured everyone. "They don't know much. It's just all a big adventure. They're going to spend the day doing all the tourist things, meet back later."

"I'm glad you brought them," Anne said. "They're adorable kids."

"Yeah," Bill said. "You'd better watch out for Lizzie, though, Christi, she's a little matchmaker."

"No, I don't mind, she's _gorgeous_," Christi said.

"But while we're on the subject," Charlie said, approaching her, "Why is it she got three kisses and I didn't even get one?"

"You get the biggest one," Christi replied, and with a smile, she slipped her arms around his neck and his slid around her slim waist, and she gave him a full, long and loving kiss on the lips.

No one could contain their smiles. Mrs Scully and Anne looked thrilled at the final confirmation that a move had at _last _been made; John and Scully exchanged a look, both looking pleased, and Monica's heart melted as she watched as the kiss went on and on, and saw in their loving grips and depth of the kiss that the two had slept together the previous night.

"Monica."

And Monica was caught off guard as John seized the spare moment, pulling her into his arms and taking her in a kiss as well. Monica closed her eyes and let herself enjoy it. Their mouths opened, tongues stroking in the same rhythm as John's hands on her back. It drifted on ...

Jack's joking voice broke the silence. "Oh, come on, what is this, a competition?"

Monica felt John laugh against her lips, and he slipped away. Opening her eyes, she saw Charlie and Christi gently breakly apart as well.

"So where were you?" Monica asked.

"Just somethin' we had to do," John said evasively.

"Agents?" The young assistant was back, with a headset on over her ears and a clipboard in her hand. "We need to get started. We need to get you backstage for hair and makeup, and your Assistant Director and Doctor want a word before we begin." She then addressed the families. "You're welcome to sit in the first row."

After that Monica, John, Scully and Mulder were all whisked away into a whirlwind of activity. Monica did not have time to think further about where John and Christi had been, as she was too busy following the chorus of instructions and directions. They were separated from their families, but before they left Monica spotted Deirdre and Jenny making a late entrance, apologising for having got stuck in traffic. Then there were last minute glitches, including an insistence from one of the crew that they wear their FBI identification like Jana Cassidy was, causing an assistant to dash back to their families to where they had been left in Mrs Scully's handbag and all four of them to pin the IDs to their black suits. Monica also spotted their interviewer weaving in and out of the crowd. She was a woman in her late forties named Annette whom Monica had seen on television before. She was professional, yet gentle, and Monica liked the fact that she was not intimidating. As they had their makeup checked, she dashed around to each of their chairs and introduced herself. And then at last they were led back to the stage area, where Jana Cassidy and Dr Cheung beckoned the four of them into a corner, their families looking on, every one of them looking apprehensive now.

"All right, we don't have much time," Jana Cassidy said. "So just stay calm and honest, be yourselves, and you can't go wrong. Don't let them trick you into answering any questions we've ruled out. If they do ask something that's too much for you, just give us a signal and we'll stop it right away."

"And _don't _be afraid to signal us," Doctor Cheung emphasised. "You have been through a lot, and despite the money they're giving you, this is still a _lot _of pressure to put you under. There's nothing to be ashamed of if you discover it's a little too much. And we can always only take a temporary break while we straighten out their line of questioning and have it edited together later. Don't let them push you around. Your health comes before your wealth."

"We'll be fine," Mulder said. "Don't worry."

Scully looked to Monica. "Let us take the difficult questions. We'll cover Follmer's death."

"And we'll answer any about Skinner," Monica replied, referring to herself and John.

"And what you had to do," John said quietly, giving Scully a concerned look. They had never sorted out what their exact response was going to be on the cannibalism front, and Monica thought that now the moment was upon them they were, after all, grossly ill-prepared. They should have perhaps forced themselves to go through Jana's practice interview, instead of turning her down. They would have to wing it now.

"Have a moment together," Doctor Cheung said sensitively. "They're clearing the studio of people now, they're going to want you on stage in a minute. Take a moment, have a word with your families if you need to."

Doctor Cheung and Jana Cassidy walked away in the direction of their families, leaving the four of them to stand alone. They eased together into a tighter circle.

"We can do this," Mulder said, drawing up his confidence. "We'll just take it easy, share around anything hard, and just show America we're ordinary, good people."

"We'll make them proud," John said. "We'll make the _FBI _proud."

"There are a lot of lighter things we can share too," Scully said. "It wasn't entirely doom and gloom."

"Your version of Cinderella," Monica said, smiling at John and recalling his humorous version of the fairy tale he had used to put Scully to sleep.

"The way you two stargazed," John contributed.

"The bond we share," Mulder said seriously.

Monica had heard many people speak of their bond, but it was the first time one of the four of them had voiced it directly, and with his words and the tight circle in which they all held each other, Monica felt strength flow through her. They would tackle it as a team, they would win, and they would do a damn good job that would inspire millions across the world, and for many generations to come.

XXX

In hindsight, it was nowhere near as stressful as any of them had anticipated. Annette was so gentle in her approach - clearly conscious of Jana and Dr Cheung's licence to cut it at any second - that they were able to sail through most of their answers with minimal upset. The frequent pauses for ad breaks helped too, and it was in these moments that their relatives ducked onto the stage to give them words of encouragement, always littered with hugs and kisses and reassurances that they were doing brilliantly and didn't have far to go. During the questioning itself, the four of them initially sat side by side on the blue couch, but when the difficult questions came, Scully, who had been on the end of the row, eased herself up into Mulder's lap so the four of them could more easily reach and comfort each other, in a mess of wet hands, tears and tissues.

_"So the plane crashed," Annette began, "describe for us what that was like. Was there screaming, was there confusion..?"_

"I think for a split second there was just silence," Monica answered. "There's a moment of shock where everything is deadly still. Then your mind realises that you've actually crashed, and in our cases, realised that by a miracle we were okay."

"We _were _lucky, though," John said. "Most people were in terrible shape."

_"And what did you do then? Paint the scene for us."_

"Well Scully took control," Mulder said. "You know she's a doctor. She flew out of her seat and began assessing people's conditions. We just basically followed her orders. Stopped the bleeding where we could, tried to keep people calm."

"There was very little we could do, though," Scully said gravely. "With no equipment, no ability to seek help ..."

"You want to know what it looked like," Monica said. "We were rushing around in an icy mountain wind, there were bodies and debris everywhere, pools of blood spilling out of our colleagues' suits, these people we've worked with for years suddenly screaming and crying in desperate agony. And it's the purest form of absolute terror you can ever come across, but you don't have time to think about it. You have to stay in control, and that's what we're trained for. We just did it. Dana gave us all instructions - I myself was trying to stem the bloodflow out of Holly's leg using a jacket - but there were others in much worse condition. Dana had an old friend she'd known since the Academy beg her to shoot him. His head injuries and internal injuries were so severe."

_"So what do you find yourself saying, when someone you've known for years is sitting there in their own blood, asking you to kill them?"_

"You lie," John said flatly, shrugging helplessly. "You tell them it's gonna be okay, to just hold on."

"There's nothing else you can do," Scully agreed.

XXX

_"Brad Follmer," Annette said delicately, looking to Monica. "Tell us what happened."_

"AD Follmer was an old friend of Monica's," Mulder jumped in. "Before he was promoted to Assistant Director he was Special Agent in Charge of the New York field office. He oversaw Agent Reyes' career when she first emerged from the FBI Academy, he recognised her enormous potential and helped her utilise it."

"After several days the pressure began to overwhelm us," Scully explained. "We'd lost many agents and still saw no sign of a rescue. And you realise in that situation that the odds are stacked against you. You can look around the endless snowy peaks, as far as the horizon, and know that you'll likely die if you attempt to hike out. And yet you also know that you'll certainly die if you stay. And when we heard the confirmation on the radio that the search had been called off, we were left with no hope. You see a line of dead bodies in the blood-stained snow, and you see yourself there. And I think everyone is doing their very best to keep a level head, to stick together, but eventually something has to give. And it did. He found the pressure too much, he left us for a moment to go urinate, and we had no reason to suspect a thing. There was a gunshot, and he was dead before the sound even reached our ears."

_And how does that affect you, who are left? Does that shake your own confidence?_

"We'd already been rocked about quite a lot by that stage," John admitted. "The loss of Holly was a huge blow to our group stability. When we found her body in the snow, and Kim - her best friend for many years - is thrashing around hysterically with grief, it scares ya. It's terrifying. It's absolutely terrifying."

"I think it definitely does have all the obvious adverse effects," Mulder said. "You're more scared than you've ever been in your life, even all the times we've been attacked, threatened and shot, don't even compare to the terror we felt on that mountain. And all you can do is do your best not to show it, because the second you think about it, let it take you, you're dead. But there's more to it than that. Because once you share an experience like that with someone, you become a lot closer than colleagues or FBI agents. Tragedy does bind you together in an extremely powerful way. And as terrified as we were, and it only doubled our determination to make it out, and to bring each other out with us. So we became a lot more aware of each other's mental and physical states, we did everything humanly possible to preserve each other's health - to the point where we weren't letting anyone out of our sight. If we wanted to stretch our legs, someone came with us, if one of us wanted to change our clothes we made sure someone of the same gender went with them, even when we had to relieve ourselves, we didn't dare take the risk of letting anyone go alone."

_"But would you say that bond had a negative impact? Did it perhaps make it all the harder when you do finally lose someone, when you lost AD Skinner and Kimberly?"_

"Without a doubt," Monica said. "Their deaths broke us. They'd been with us for so long, every step of the way, and to lose them after that amount of time just shattered any hope we had left. I think we cried all night after we finally found them."

_"But you did eventually overcome that fear. The four of you did hike out."_

"It came to the point where it was the only option," Monica explained. "We would die for sure if we stayed. If we hiked out there was a slim chance of survival. So it was a choice we had to make."

_"Did you really expect to make it out alive?"_

"Well," Scully said, as the four of them shared uneasy looks. "I can say now that no I didn't. But I preferred a quick death in a blizzard to a slow one of starvation."

"Monica was the only one who kept up her belief it was possible," John said. "The rest of us were stumbling along, beyond exhaustion, barely able to stand, and she kept pushing us. Somehow she was able to keep her focus, keep us all going. And even when the three of us refused to take a step further, she forced us to keep going. She walked off and left us, knowing full well we had to follow her."

_"But that was a big gamble."_

"Not really," Monica said. "Because that's how close we were, how close we still are now. I never really doubted that they'd come after me. If we were going to die, we'd die together."

XXX

_"The cannibalism. Let's talk about that."_

"It was something we ended up having to face," Monica said. "We were all getting incredibly weak, and it came to a point where we knew we were going to die, and slowly. And it wasn't an easy decision. Every one of us fought like hell against the idea, we argued it out between us for a long time. But in the end we can't deny that it came to that."

_"And how did you make that decision?"_

"Well I think you can look at it several ways," Mulder said. "There is an undeniable fact that the human body is conditioned to preserve itself at all costs. You can see it from a religious point of view that it's the soul that goes to heaven, and the body is a carrier which in our society is usually burned or left to rot in the ground anyway. You could even look at it as a purely logical decision. But I think we can agree that it wasn't any of things that forced us to cross the line. Those reasons by themselves weren't enough for us to embrace the agony of coming to terms with the possibility. I think in the end it was how much we meant to each other that forced us to do it. I saw a group of people who meant more to me than anything else in the world, whom I couldn't live without, and whom I refused to watch die slowly before my eyes. I was seeing Agents Reyes and Scully losing extraordinary amounts of weight extremely fast - and they were thin enough to begin with - and at that point where you realise you're watching the slow death of someone you love more than anyone else, _that's _when the decision starts to form itself. And I think if the people of America, and around the world, could try to picture themselves in that position, where they've watched nearly twenty people die, and they're left watching their very closest friends, their family or their children, deteriorate down that same path ... then maybe you can imagine how we had to force ourselves to come to terms with it. And it wasn't enjoyable, we didn't embrace the idea and sit around and have a five course banquet and fight over the funny bone - we yelled and argued and cried and hated ourselves and _forced _each other to swallow, and then we vomited and coughed until we nearly choked. And I'm not glad, I'm not proud, I honestly wish we never had to talk about it ever again. The most I can say is that I'm glad none of our fellow citizens have so far had to experience it, and I hope no one else ever will."

XXX

_"Now I know I'm not allowed to ask you about what's happened since your return to Washington. But would you permit me to ask you about the bond the four of you share?"_

"Yes, you can ask that," Mulder answered.

_"How close are you? You've spoken about your time on the mountain, that you feared so much for each other that you accompanied each other to urinate. Do you still feel that closeness, even now?"_

"It's still there," John said. "I think if anything it's dramatically increased."

"The four of us do share these horrific memories," Scully said. "Things that no one else can ever truly understand, or even imagine. And that does bind us for life. Before this happened we were FBI field agents, colleagues and friends, but we're a thousand times more than that now."

"You know we haven't separated since it happened," Monica said, trying to quantify it for the cameras. "I have no shame in admitting that we can't bear to. Our relatives will tell you that until last night we were even sharing the same bedroom, often lying on the floor, sharing the sleeping space and blankets as we were in the crashed plane. We also frequently share the same armchairs, sit in each other's laps, because being close to each other is the only thing that dulls the pain."

_"I think we can see that bond," Annette said, looking at Scully who was perched in Mulder's lap so she could reach Monica and John's hands. "I can see that you haven't let go of each other since this interview began. But it is also common knowledge that you, Agents Doggett and Reyes, and you, Agents Mulder and Scully, are in relationships of your own. How do you situate your relationship when you're also existing in this tight foursome? Does this foursome negatively affect your relationships, for instance when you're sharing sleeping space with two others?" _

"Well," Mulder said, as the four of them smiled at each other, "Before we go any further I think the FBI might appreciate us pointing out that we have remained professionals. We haven't breached the Bureau's anti-fraternization laws. Yes, Scully and I have been in a relationship for several years, but we weren't working together once it evolved. And John and Monica have only been involved since our return to Washington. But in terms of your actual question, and answering as four ordinary people, I have to say that no, our friendship doesn't hinder our relationships."

"Our friendship as a foursome is the most important thing there is," Scully said. "And as powerful as our love as pairs might be, I think it will always sit in the context of that overall relationship."

"To specifically answer your question," Monica said, taking pity on Annette, "we haven't actually been having sex in front of each other, no. But neither would it bother me in the least if we did. We don't have any secrets at all between us. As bizarre as it may sound, that's how close we are. And I count myself extremely fortunate to have these three people as such very close friends. It is through horrific circumstances that our bond has come to exist, but it's also the most extraordinary thing I've ever experienced in my life. I have no doubt that the four of us will be sticking together for a very long time."

"Forever," John simplified. "We won't be partin'. Whatever we end up doin', we'll be stickin' together."

_"You can't live without each other."_

"No, we couldn't live without each other," Mulder agreed.

_"Could you go on if anything happened to one of you?"_

Monica felt the underlying meaning of the question, felt Annette's eyes on her arm, though she was not allowed to make the reference openly.

"No, we couldn't go on," Scully said, after a pause. Her eyes were filled with tears. "That might be a price of the closeness we share."

_"So if it did happen ..."_

"If anything happened to John, Mulder or Dana," Monica replied, "I'd kill myself."

Out of the corner of her eye Monica spotted the alarm in the faces of their relatives. Dr Cheung stood up.

_"Do you share that view?" Annette asked the other three._

"Absolutely," Scully said, matter-of-factly. "We wouldn't hesitate."

"We know that scares people," John said, glancing at his family, "but it is true. When you share the kinda love we do, the loss of any one of us would be too much."

_"But surely you have to accept that one day, even if far in the future, you will face this. You won't live forever."_

"Then all we can do is the make the most of what we have until that time comes," Mulder said.

XXX

_"So what do you see in your future?" Annette asked, as the two hours came to a close." Where do you go from here?"_

"We don't know yet," Scully said. "We haven't really talked about it."

"I think we can only think in terms of the immediate future," Mulder said. "I think for now we'd just like a little time out. We're going to spend some time here in Atlanta with John and Scully's families, and try to piece things together."

_"Do you see yourselves returning full time to the FBI?"_

"Not at this stage," John said. "But like Dana said, we haven't talked about it. Right now we just need to relax. We have a lot of healin' to do first."

_"So your future is uncertain."_

"Entirely uncertain," Monica agreed.

"Not entirely," John said.

Monica gave him a questioning look.

"There is one thing."

And he moved off the couch, kneeling down in front of Monica's legs and pulling a velvet box out of his pocket.

"Monica -"

Monica's heart stopped as she saw John open the box to reveal a stunning white gold engagement ring. In a split second she saw Christi grinning in the audience, saw Anne's wide eyes, and everything from that morning fell into place. Her heart thudded in her chest. She could barely breathe, felt Scully's hand on her arm, John's on her knee.

"We've been through hell," John said, moving to take her good hand. "I'm not even gonna name everythin' we've been through together, except to say that it's only due to you that I've been able to live on. Even from the very start, when I lost Luke. And I have no idea what the future holds for us, only that whatever it is, I want you facin' it with me. You're the woman I love, the woman I want to spend my life with." He paused. Tears of joy were already streaming down Monica's face. "Will you marry me?"

"You _bet _I will!"

And she leaned down and seized his lips with hers. They kissed hard, John raising himself to his knees and gradually pulling them both up until they were standing, his arms locked around hard around her waist as they kissed furiously, both crying, but for sheer joy this time. She heard whistles and applause from the audience, their relatives, and then footsteps as they joined them on stage, but Monica and John kissed on, and on and on until she finally had to break free to gasp for breath, and when she did she saw the elation in John's eyes, and she couldn't help but grin herself, as all the pain of the past month disappeared and she felt happier than she had ever been. John seized the ring from the box and gently taking Monica's bandaged arm, slipped it on to her finger. It was a perfect fit. She reached up and kissed him hard again.

As they kissed, Monica felt them both being hugged by everyone else, and they parted to share their joy with those they loved: First Scully and Mulder, who were also in tears of joy and utter elation on their behalf, and then by Christi, who threw her arms around Monica and hugged her harder than ever before, and then by Anne, who was overwhelmed with happiness and said to John, "You should've told us!" before seizing Monica in an enthusiastic, loving hug and whispering in her ear, "You can call me Mom now if you want." And as the interview came to a close to the scene of joy, everyone hugging and applauding as confetti fell from the roof, Monica could not see how she had ever even thought of suicide. Joy like this, love like this, was worth waiting a lifetime for.

XXX

The afternoon moulded into the evening in deafening celebration at Anne and Jack's house. The recording was to go out that night on national television, but for the survivors and their families there was a lot of partying to do, and they streamed through the front door to help celebrate. There was Jenny, her husband Brian and sixteen-year-old Sophie, then Carol and David and John and Christi's other five cousins, three with partners of their own and several kids, then Deirdre and also the other numerous family members on Jack's side, totaling a crowd of well over 50 people. Jack turned on the outdoor heater on the patio and Christi cranked up the stereo and let _Stayin' Alive _pound the entire neighborhood.

The survivors went upstairs to get changed upon their return, Mulder and Scully emerging five minutes later, John and Monica a full hour, and probably wouldn't have come down at all if not for the number of guests waiting to welcome back John. Also present were Tara's parents and Matthew and Lizzie, who had had a fantastic day at the zoo. They had bought a soft toy monkey for Lizzie with velcro hands, and she walked around with it hanging around her neck. She had also attached herself to Christi when she was barely two steps in the door.

"You've been playing chess, I see," Bill said to Scully, as she sat down on the sofa to relax with a drink. John and Mulder also had a beer in their hands, though Anne had strictly forbidden it for Monica, as it would not mix with her medication.

"We only had a quick game this morning," Charlie said. "Mom was nagging us that it was time to leave."

"Why don't you have one now?" Tara suggested.

"It'd be a little anti-social," Scully said, feeling that she should probably get up and make an effort to go mingle with the Doggett crowd. John and Monica were in the thick of it out by the pool, arms around each other, beaming as Scully had never seen them beam before.

"Nonsense," Mrs Scully dismissed. "It's your day, Dana, you do whatever you like."

"You don't need to worry about John and Monica," Charlie said, glancing out the open sliding door to the pool area, where the hordes were gathered, John and Monica were locked in yet another kiss, and Christi was teaching Lizzie a few dance moves, holding both her hands and spinning her around as the music moved to Bryan Adam's _Summer of '69_.

"You play," Mulder said cheerfully, swooping to peck her on the lips. "I'll go mingle on your behalf."

"That's settled," Bill said, and taking a seat opposite her, started putting all the pieces back in their proper positions. "Get ready to be humiliated, Dana."

"Overconfidence is your weakness."

"Wanna bet?"

"If you like. I can afford it now."

Grinning, Bill dug into his pocket for his wallet. Opening it up, he took out a wad of notes equating to several hundred dollars and threw them down onto the table.

"Whatever that is to stay you're gonna have your butt kicked."

"Done," Scully said swiftly, thinking of her share of the four hundred million and calculating that it was safe to lose.

Then she spotted that Matthew was hanging over the back of the sofa, looking awed by the amount of money on the table.

"And this doesn't mean we approve of gambling," Scully said to him. "It's a one-off."

Matthew gave her a thoughtful look, and then walked around the sofa and plonked himself down beside her. Scully was surprised to see shyness in his expression. Matthew was not prone to it as Lizzie was.

"Aunt Dana?"

"Yeah?"

"My friends at school talk about you."

Quickly popping a bubble of discomfort, Scully said casually, "Well I imagine I might be a little well-known now. Did they see us on TV?"

"Yes. And they said they'd pay me twenty dollars if I got your autograph for them."

Scully could not help laughing - and neither could anyone else in the family.

"Did they really?" Scully said, trying to keep a straight face and failing completely. Somehow it was touching to think that she had had an impact on this group of little boys.

"Yes," Matthew said, looking at her with an excited awe.

"Matthew, Dana's your aunt," Tara said. "I don't want you using her to make a profit."

"It's okay," Scully said, too amused to be annoyed. Then to Matthew, she added, "I tell you what. There's Mr. Doggett over there. If you go ask him politely for a piece of paper and a pen, I'll give you some autographs."

Delighted, Matthew hurried away over to Jack in the kitchen, calling, "Mr Doggett!"

"Well I'm gonna go find Christi," Charlie said, and surprised Scully with a peck on her cheek. "Make sure you kick his ass."

But Charlie did not have to go far to find her, as at that moment Christi came inside still holding Lizzie's hand, who was trotting along beside her chatting away as Christi struggled to keep a straight face.

"... and Aunt Cwisti, did you ... did you know my Mom's going to have a baby?"

"Is she really?" Christi asked interestedly, pretending not to already know.

"Yes," Lizzie said, monkey bouncing on her back as they headed for the kitchen. "It's growing in her tummy and in July she has to push it out."

"And what are hoping for? A brother or a sister?"

"I want a _sister_," Lizzie said. "Boys are yucky."

Christi laughed, then said, "Oh, I don't know. Your Uncle Charlie isn't yucky."

"Yeah, but he's really _old_."

"Who's calling me old?" Charlie demanded mockingly, as he approached them from behind.

Lizzie looked over her shoulder just as Charlie caught up with her.

"I'll get you for that," he said playfully, and proceeded to tickle Lizzie all over until she dissolved into an uncontrollable fit of giggles, collapsing on the floor under Charlie's hands.

"He'd better watch she doesn't wet herself," Bill said.

"Hey."

Scully looked up as Monica and John came over to join them, holding hands and beaming from ear to ear. John sat down beside Scully, pulling Monica into his lap.

"I saw Lizzie with you," Mrs Scully said. "I hope she's not bothering you."

"No, she's a delight!" Monica said sincerely.

"She was quizzin' us on our wedding plans," John said, hand roaming Monica's lower back.

"I gather I should have a carriage pulled by six white unicorns and a dress as long as the wedding aisle."

"I think we need to cut her Disney intake," Bill said.

"Aunt Dana!"

Matthew had returned with a pen and a few sheets of white paper. Scully took them and put them down on the coffee table.

"You doing autographs, Scully?" Mulder asked, momentarily rejoining the group and sitting on the arm beside her.

"Just a few select supporters."

"His friends offered him twenty dollars," Tara explained.

"Would you like us to sign too?" Monica asked. "You'd make a lot more money with all four of us."

Matthew looked like he couldn't believe his luck.

"Give it here," John said, rearranging Monica on his lap and leaning forward for the pen and paper. "What're your friends' names?"

"Well there's Lachlan, Tony, Dominic, Josh, Aidan, Cameron, Elijah, Zac, Michael, Jake -"

"That sounds like a lot," Tara interrupted. "Do they really all need autographs?"

"Maybe we should start our own fan club," Mulder said.

"Don't you have any girls in your class?" Monica complained with a smile.

"Yeah," Matthew said. "But I'm not friends with them."

"What's wrong with being friends with girls?" Scully asked, straight-faced.

"They smell."

There was laughter all around.

"Oh, they do _not _smell!" Mrs Scully protested.

"We're girls," Scully argued. "Are you saying we smell?"

"No, but you're different," Matthew said seriously.

"How am I different?" Scully pressed.

He shrugged. "You just are."

"I love a well reasoned argument," Bill said.

"How are you going over here?"

They looked up to see Jana Cassidy, who had come with them from the studio with Dr Cheung, had come in from outside. They had never before seen the social side of her, but she had mingled with the Doggett family by the pool and looked like she was genuinely enjoying herself.

"Fine," Mulder said. "Just engaging in a little PR."

"Are you going to -"

But she broke off as her cell phone rang. Sighing as if it never, ever stopped, she pulled it out of her suit pocket, but then frowned as she looked at the caller ID.

"Everything OK?" Scully asked.

"I don't know," Jana said, looking wary.

She hit the answer button. "Cassidy." There was a pause. "What was that?" Another pause. "Can you repeat that?"

Scully watched as Jana's face went from confusion to alarm.

"Oh my God."

"What's the matter?" John asked.

But Jana ignored them, marching over to the television and searching for the remote control.

"In the cupboard," Christi said, coming to join them and looking also scared by the urgency.

Jana flung open the cupboard beneath the TV and fished out the remote control. She turned it on and flicked through the channels in a blur until she came to a 24 hour news station.

"Would you mind turning down the music?" Jana asked Christi.

_Dancing Queen _came to a halt and silence gripped the room.

"What's the matter?" Jack asked, more and more people coming to join them.

But Jana had found a news report and she stopped to listen, phone still against her ear.

"... We've just received word that FBI Director Martin Hillier, who has led the Federal Bureau of Investigation for 33 years has resigned. Director Hillier just announced the news to a press conference in Washington D.C., declaring that he believes it is time for him to move on and make way for a new leader. It has also been confirmed, however, that Deputy Director Kersh, who would have been next in line, has already given his letter of resignation to secure an elite position in the Department of Justice, leaving the new director to be chosen from one of the remaining eight assistant directors. Director Hillier in his speech has named Assistant Director Jana Cassidy as the likely candidate, praising her leadership of the FBI in recent weeks and her connection with the American public. We are yet to hear official word from the Department of Justice that AD Cassidy's nomination has been accepted, but should this be the case, she stands to make history as being the first female FBI director ever ..."

"You're gonna be Director," Mulder said, turning to look at Jana's stunned face.

Scully glanced to Monica and John, who both smiled.

"Are you all right?" Scully asked, as Jana seemed incapable of speech. Thinking she might actually faint, Scully got to her feet and went to join her.

"No, I'm okay," Jana said, beginning to recover. "I just don't believe it."

Her phone rang again.

"That'll be the official word now," John said, coming to join them with Monica.

Jana looked down at the ringing phone.

"You'd better answer it," Monica advised.

Jana answered it. There was a tension across the room and no one said a word as the short phone call transpired. 

After a minute in which Jana did none of the talking, she ended the call. Her expression gave no clues.

"And..?" Monica prompted.

And Jana's face broke into a smile. Tears appeared in her eyes.

"Oh my God ..."

"You're the Director?" Monica asked, seeking confirmation.

Jana nodded.

"Congratulations!"

"CONGRATULATIONS!"

There was a mass of cheering and excitement on her behalf. Jana herself looked too stunned to do anything but struggle to absorb the news as everyone swarmed to congratulate her.

John patted her shoulder. "I'll get you a flight to Washington."

And he left for the phone.

"Three cheers for Jana!" Jack called. "New Director making history at the FBI, and who will, _without doubt_, make the best Director the Bureau's ever seen!"

The responding cheers bellowed from all directions. Jana turned to look at her supporters, stunned by the reception. But no one cheered harder than Scully, Mulder, Monica or John, as no one appreciated more what she had done for them, even risking her own career to support them. And Scully, applauding along with everyone else, agreed whole-heartedly that no one was more deserving than Jana Cassidy.

* * *

_A pretty feel-good chapter for me, don't you think? I'm really really happy with how it turned out, actually. I wasn't expecting to enjoy Matthew & Lizzie so much, they just took on a life of their own. I don't know whether it showed, but I actually had a third huge surprise that I cut as I thought it was overwhelmingly cheerful as it was and maybe I should save something for the next day! It would've cheapened it to squeeze in three, I'm probably pushing two! Hope you enjoyed it like I did!_


	31. Chapter 31

_**Warning**: Sexual References, Bad Language, all in the name of a good cause ..._

* * *

**_Chapter 61 - Children_**

"Scully?"

Scully lay there, barely awake against the extreme comfort of the soft pillow and feather doona enveloping her. She heard Mulder's voice, strangely low and alert, and it carried her the final distance to consciousness.

"Are you all right, Mulder?" she asked, slurring the words into her pillow as she debated trying to force her eyes open. She knew it was morning now, or more likely several hours after, as the house slept in after the party the night before. She had faintly heard one or two doors opening up the hallway, but had thus far been keen to fall back asleep again in the heavenly comfort of the bed.

"Scully, would it bother you to know I've been sleeping with another woman?"

Scully sighed, not yet in the mood for jokes.

"I'm serious," he protested. "She's slim, dark and dangerous."

Scully sighed again, and abandoning her hope of a further few hours of sleep, rolled over onto her back and came face-to-face with Christi's cat Princess - who was perched like a sphinx on Mulder's white t-shirt clad chest, purring contently into his face. She glanced to the door and saw it had been pushed open a few inches. Mulder, however, looked like he had just woken up and looked nothing short of alarmed to find that Princess had nominated him as the warmest spot in the neighborhood.

Noting that Mulder looked lost without his gun, Scully tried her best to stifle a smile and reached up, gently lifting the cat from his chest.

"She won't hurt you, Mulder."

She gave Princess a quick cuddle before gently depositing her on the floor beside the bed, where she threw them a glare over her shoulder and stalked off toward the door.

"I think she left half her coat behind," Mulder complained, turning his nose up at the smattering of black fur spread over his white t-shirt.

"So take it off," she said, rolling further toward him and tugging at the white cloth.

Sitting up slightly, he tore the cloth over his head and threw it in a ball towards his suitcase before continuing to roll over so Scully was flat on her back with him leaning over her. His hand dipped under the hem of her pyjama top, his warm fingers sliding over the skin of her waist.

Scully closed her eyes, luxuriating in the touch. She wished she could feel the same level of arousal as she had before the accident, but recent events occupying her mind still held that feeling at bay. Mulder, however, seemed fully understanding of this, and she counted herself lucky as his fingers and hands softly roamed, enjoying her without giving any request for sex.

Enjoying the feeling, she opened her eyes again to find his own staring into her. His fingers now went to the lowest of her pyjama buttons, slowly popping open each one, but holding her eyes as he worked his way up.

"How are you feeling?" he asked gently.

She knew what he was referring to.

"A little better," she admitted. The success of the interview, their newfound wealth, and the happiness of the evening before all lingered within her, lifting her mood.

"But still not a hundred percent," he concluded, studying her.

"No, not yet," she said softly. "But we'll get there."

He nodded as he finished with her buttons, though he did not open the shirt.

"We'll work it out," he agreed, lifting his hand to stroke the side of her cheek. He leant over and pressed a light kiss to her lips. "We'll take our time, do it at your own pace. You lead the way."

At those words, Scully took his hand in hers, and moved it inside her shirt and onto her bare left breast. He squeezed gently. Then with her other hand she nudged him toward her, bringing him down for another kiss, his bare chest pressed warmly against her own. They kissed for a while, slow and gentle, his hand keeping up the massage of her left breast in the way he knew she liked. As the kiss went on, Scully smoothed her own hands over his chest, skimming his back as well before eventually moving one toward the front of his boxers, but her fingertips had barely touched the cotton before Mulder caught her hand and lifted it away.

"This is about you," he said, gently pinning her hands down and kissing his way down her neck. "Just relax."

She tried to comply, letting her head sink back into the pillow and closing her eyes, focusing entirely on Mulder's hands, trying to work with him as he worked to help her reignite some twinges of sexual arousal. And several minutes later - as Mulder worked his magic with his lips and hands over both of her breasts, nipples, and abdomen - she was surprised to feel a slight wetness between her legs. And she knew another moment later that he had sensed the change, too - perhaps from her deep relaxation or the way she had slightly parted her thighs, or maybe he had even smelled it as his lips kissed their way over her abdomen, just above the hem of her pyjama bottoms - but when he next kissed her on the lips, firm and romantic, she felt him gently untying the knotted strings of her pyjama bottoms.

"How are you doing?" he asked quietly, as he finished unthreading the knot.

"I'm good," she replied softly.

She lifted her hips as he slid down her pyjama bottoms. She felt him work them quickly over her ankles, leaving her bare from the waist down. Then she parted her legs slightly and held her breath as his warm fingers made contact, gently masturbating her.

"Oh my -"

She broke off abruptly as she spotted a figure at the open door. She froze in heart-stopping alarm before seeing it was only Monica; standing there with a hand on the knob she had been discretely pulling closed for them. Her white gold engagement ring now shone prominently on her damaged hand.

Mulder's fingers stopped moving, Scully felt herself blush red as she realised she was completely exposed, giving Monica a full view of what Mulder had been doing to her.

But Monica appeared completely unfazed, and when she saw they had seen her, she said quietly, "You should close the door. Your entire family are wandering about downstairs."

And Scully came to her senses, her eyes flying to the bedside clock and seeing that it was nearly eleven. Of _course _everyone else would be up and about by now - Charlie and Christi would have arrived, and Bill and Tara with their family from their hotel room, having promised to spend the morning and part of the afternoon with them before flying back to San Diego.

_Fool_, she thought.

"Sorry," Mulder said, and he lifted the blankets back over them so Scully felt them against her bare skin, then reaching to her pyjama top and closing it for her.

"It's okay," Monica said, with a small smile. "Just be careful. You don't want Matthew and Lizzie walking in on you."

"Or anyone else," Scully said dully. Being seen by Monica did not bother her - as Monica had said herself in the interview, that was just how close they were, and Scully was grateful she had tried to come to their rescue and close the door for them. She hated to think what would have happened if her Mom had decided to look in on her, or if one of the kids had passed the open doorway on the way to the bathroom ... or even worse: _Bill _...

"We should get downstairs," Mulder said, moving toward the edge of the mattress.

"If you're going to get up I'd like a word first," Monica said, as Scully buttoned her pyjama top. "There are some important things we need to sort out ASAP."

Alert now, Scully eyed the urgency in Monica's eyes. She realised that Monica looked as though she'd been up for hours.

"What's the matter?" she asked, worried.

"It's nothing bad," Monica said. "Just put something on, I'll get John."

XXX

Monica led them into the study she was sharing with John, closing the door after them. Scully, now fully dressed, sat on the edge of the unmade sofa bed with Mulder, and John sat himself in the swivel chair at his father's desk. Monica, looking a little tense, sat on the other side of Scully so the four were in a rough circle.

"What's this about?" Scully asked. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Monica replied. "It's just about the money."

Just the word was enough to bring a swarm of mixed emotions into Scully's chest. Part of it was happiness, but there was also great uncertainty, a heavy feeling over what their wealth had brought. Their wealth and their fame ... both two huge concerns ...

"They've finalised the ratings from last night's viewing," Monica went on. "We hit the highest bracket."

Scully knew what this meant. They had gone over it thoroughly prior to the interview. The figure for their base participation was 75 million each, 300 million in total. But there had always been an extra 100 million that was tied to the ratings. If it was an overwhelming success, if they had kept viewers engaged, the full 400 million was up for grabs. If not, it stayed at the base 300 million. None of them had of course watched the interview on television themselves, though Anne and Jack had recorded it. Doing it for real in the studio had been enough, and none of them had felt an immediate desire to watch it again, though Scully knew they would eventually. But Monica's news of the ratings success meant now that the four of them would be paid the full 400 million, equating to 100 million each.

"Christ," John said, shaking his head and looking daunted.

"They've taken out the tax," Monica continued, "which is close to fifty percent, so we're left with just over a clear 50 million each."

The figure still sounded daunting, and Scully found herself not knowing what to say - a feeling shared by Mulder and John.

"It's good news," Monica clarified, watching all their faces.

"I think we just need a moment to adjust," Mulder said.

John was still shaking his head, and Scully understood why: None of them had grown up wealthy like Monica, who was used to enormous sums of money and was only happy about the latest addition to her fortune. John's family had always been average, working class, never having a lot of money at all. Mulder's had been the same. And while Scully had grown up in a family that had never worried about money - having a father who was a navy Captain - she had still never dealt with it in the sums that they were talking about now.

Nevertheless, she recovered first.

"You said we had some decisions to make," she pointed out.

"We do," Monica said, calmly crossing to John and sitting down in his lap to ease his stunned look. She put her good arm around him, pressed a kiss to his lips, and this seemed to bring him to his senses. Scully watched as all his mixed emotions conflicted across his face until he finally settled on one and a kind of shocked smile finally spread across his lips and he put his arm around Monica's waist, holding her in his lap.

"There are several things we need to do," Monica said. "First of all I think we need to invest it. We need to break it up, diversify it, and get it earning some interest. I'm talking cash, property _and _stock. It needs to work. Secondly I think we need to look into appointing an accountant, though that's not quite as urgent. And most importantly of _all_, we need to update our wills and also sort out what we're handing out to family, if any."

Scully felt bombarded, and almost struggled to keep up with how much thought Monica had already given to the situation.

"Well you're the ones with family," Mulder said, looking to Scully and John. "It's your choice."

"We have to look after 'em," John said quickly. "They've stood by us all this time, it's the least we can do. Especially when we're dealin' with those kinda numbers."

Scully looked up to John. "Well whatever we give out, it should be the same to everyone. No favouritism."

"I also think," Monica said, "that whatever we give out should be deducted first, before we split the remainder amongst ourselves. It's not fair that you two should pay the entire amount when it's all of us that are enjoying everyone's help and support."

"You don't have to," Scully said. "I can support them myself."

"No," Mulder said firmly, turning to look at her. "We're all in this together. It's not about genetics and bloodlines. They've _all _been here, and for _all _of us. Scully, no one in your family ever showed us any less support than they showed you. And the same goes for John's."

"I dunno I agree with splittin' it four ways anyway," John said. "We all suffered it up there, and that's what the money's for. We earned it together, we spend it together. Every cent of it will always belong to all four of us. As a team."

"I agree," Monica said. "The four's greater than the two, and greater than the one. We stick together. United."

"No personal boundaries," Scully said.

"That's right," Mulder agreed.

And it was now that Scully felt the happiness of it. They were united, would stay united, and the money would never change that. Their love would always come first, and no matter what happened they would always exist as a foursome.

There was a momentary pause, which Scully broke.

"So who do we give to?"

"Let's start with those who were with us in Washington," Mulder said. "We have Anne, Jack and Christi. We have your mom, Charlie, Bill and Tara."

"What do we do about married couples?" John asked. "One share between them, or one each?"

"One each," Monica said quickly. "They were each with us, we thank them equally. We give every person the same amount, then there's no jealousy and no bitterness."

"Well that's seven shares," Mulder said.

"What about your other family?" Scully asked John. "Deirdre, Jenny and Carol."

"I'd like to give them somethin'," John said. "Then they can split whatever it is between their own families, give them a helping hand."

"Then that's three extra," Scully said. She felt no issues with giving to Anne's three sisters, as they had stuck with them, too. Jenny and Deirdre had met them in Washington, Deirdre even counselling them and taking a break from her job to help them for several weeks to come. And then there was Carol, for while she had not joined them in DC, they could not give to Anne, Jenny and Deirdre and leave out Carol, who was undeniably a tight part of the family.

"And what about Matthew and Lizzie?" Monica asked.

"And the kid on the way," John added.

Scully fell silent. That had been the major part of their wealth that had bothered her. She knew all the adults were mature enough to adjust to the wealth, but she could not help wondering what effect such sudden wealth would have on a child, if it would corrupt their personality ...

"I don't know," Scully said.

"If you want my opinion," Monica said, with the delicate air of sharing her own experience of growing up wealthy, "I wouldn't give them anything at this point. There's no denying they're a part of the family, and we need to help them have the best life we can give them, but they're still young. I think the best thing is to let them grow up normal. Let them relate to their peers as equals and know the value of hard work. The last thing you want is them being spoilt and lazy. Then when they're mature enough to take it, we'll let them in."

"You're sayin' to shelter them from it," John said. "Not even tell them how wealthy she is."

"They know you're rich now," Monica pointed out. "They might be young but they have your brains. But I'd hold off on revealing the amount for as long as you can. Let them wonder. Even tell them you gave a lot of it to charity. You don't want them skipping around the schoolyard boasting about it, thinking themselves superior to others, or even using you for it."

Scully had not thought of that, and it made her uncomfortable.

"For now," Monica went on, "let's just give shares to Bill and Tara, and when it comes to the kids, maybe leave some in trust for when they're older, and for now just finance their education, and any other expenses."

"What kind of school do they go to now?" Mulder asked.

"A Catholic one," Scully replied. "It's just a local one not far from the base. It's nothing particularly special."

"Then we'll offer to Bill and Tara to get the kids into any school they want," Monica concluded. "And we'll pay for all the accessories, too: their uniforms, books, camps, music lessons, and anything else that's reasonable. And if they want to go to college, we'll fund that too."

"If we give 'em a few million, they'll be able to take care of all that themselves," John pointed out.

"It's more than that," Monica said, with another look of having a familiarity with these things that the other three had never experienced. "These schools are elite. It's going to take more than money to get the kids in. With our fame we'll be able to get them in with open arms where Bill and Tara can't."

Scully nodded. There was another pause as they each thought of anything else they might have forgotten.

"So for all the adults," John said at last, "we've got ten shares. We have my mom and dad, Dana's mom, Charlie, Bill, Tara, Christi, Deirdre, Jenny and Carol. And we'll put three extra shares aside, invested for the kids, for when they're older."

"Agreed," Scully said.

Monica nodded, also giving her consent.

"What about future kids?" Mulder asked. "We don't know for sure that Bill and Tara will stop at three. And we also have to consider that Charlie and Christi might one day have their own as well, whether together, if their relationship works out, or even separately if it doesn't."

"Then we treat them the same as Bill and Tara's three," Monica said. "They're biological relatives, we look after them."

"And that only leaves the amount," Scully said, looking around and for some reason, feeling a little nervous. "We have ten adult shares, a minimum of three children. Then we have to allow for any future children -" she paused and looked to John and Monica, spotting again the engagement ring, "- for _your _future children, and for our own futures as well."

She saw John and Monica exchange a look. Monica smiled, John gave her a squeeze, and Scully knew that children were on the agenda. It might be on the horizon, even years ahead, but they were there.

"Well with 200 million clear," John said, "what about 5 million each? That'd be 50 million for the adults, 5 million in trust for each kid, and plenty left for us, any charity, and anythin' the future brings."

"It'll be constantly growing, too," Monica said. "It's invested, not a static amount. We can always hand out more later."

Again, they all nodded.

"When did you want to hand it out?" Scully asked.

"Let's give it two months," Mulder said. "I think it's important we remember that we shouldn't be making any big decisions for six to eight weeks. It's what all the experts have told us, and I think it's with good reason. By that time we should be better to some degree and things should have settled down a little with regard to what we want to do. We can still tell your families we're going to look after them, but I'm sure they'll understand perfectly that we want to wait a little while before making big decisions about the money."

Scully herself did not feel that their decision would change, but it was a sensible suggestion and a fair one. She saw Monica nod in agreement, and John shrug, indifferent and happy to go along with it if it's what Mulder wanted.

"I think," Mulder said quietly, "that the worst thing we could do is to fall into trap of letting the money be a drug for our pain. It'd be too easy to spend it and let that momentary euphoria mask the real issues. It's essential that in these next weeks we proceed exactly as we are. Our focus is our mental health and that's what we need to work on as our first priority. And the same thing goes for all our family downstairs as well. No, they didn't go through what we did, but they're still enormously affected and we have to remember to take care of them as much as they're taking care of us. Let's just wait until everything settles, until we're sure that each of us is doing better."

"Then let's wait to announce it as well," Monica said. "We don't want it being a distraction. We just tell them we're doing nothing with it for two to three months, as the doctors ordered. They'll understand that."

"But we'll tell Bill and Tara to investigate schools," John said. "We'll be able to cover that, no matter what, and it'll give 'em time to think about it and choose one before the new school year."

They all agreed.

"You also mentioned a will," Scully pointed out, looking to Monica. "What are your thoughts, there?"

"Well we agreed that we're a foursome," Monica said. "That the money stays shared between us who earned it mutually through our suffering. Therefore I think that we update our wills -" she swallowed "- if anything happens ... the money we earned together is inherited by whoever remains of us."

"And if you have a family?" Scully asked.

But Monica's answer was swift. "Dana, we're a four. You said it yourself: though we are pairs and individuals, we will always exist in the context of that foursome. We _always _will be a four. Any children John and I have are equally yours. And I'm sure that if anything happened to us, you would look after them as your own, inherit our share of the money and raise them to the absolute best of your ability."

In a heartbeat Scully was moved to tears. Monica and John blurred in front of her, and she was so touched that for a moment she did not dare breathe. To hear that Monica and John considered their future children as equally hers, and speak it without even a thought, as though she was silly for ever thinking otherwise, left her feeling the most touched she had ever been in her life. She tried to swipe the tears away, but they fell.

She felt the mattress dip as Monica sat beside her, and slid her good arm around her shoulders. She could make out a blur kneeling in front of her that was John, and his hand on her knee.

"And for future reference," John said, rubbing her knee. "If you ever want more IVF, or an adoption ... you know we're behind you a hundred percent."

Scully smiled through her tears.

Monica squeezed her, rubbing her back warmly. "Dana, don't cry. It'll all work out."

"It'll be fine, Scully," Mulder added, also hugging her. "And in the meantime we have a beautiful niece and nephew downstairs waiting to play with us."

And Scully smiled again, his words only causing more fresh tears of joy to flow out - because it incredible to hear that her niece and nephew were considered by her three counterparts to be their own niece and nephew as well - that her family were theirs, that John's family were hers ... they were all one now, all together.

"Now do you wanna come downstairs with us, or stay up here a little longer?" John asked, still rubbing her knee.

"He means do you want to finish what I interrupted," Monica translated with a smile.

"No," Scully said, finally wiping away enough tears that she could see without a massive blur of water. "You're right," she added with a smile. "I have a beautiful niece and nephew to play with."

XXX

"Good morning!"

Anne gave them all her usual beaming smile as the four finally joined them around eleven o'clock. Monica went to share a big hug with her - the woman she was now officially calling "Mom" - and Scully, John and Mulder all paused on the way to the kitchen and breakfast to greet everyone in the living room, who were sitting around together on the sofa. But Scully noticed the conspicuous absence of Bill, Charlie and Matthew, until Mrs Scully spotted her confusion and said, "They're in the yard playing basketball."

"We have a ring rigged up above the back of the garage," Jack explained. "It used to be John's when he was little."

"I'll go get them," Deirdre volunteered, who had come over, sticking to her promise to be with them through the next few weeks. She disappeared out through the sliding door to the grey winters day outside.

"Come on you lot," Jack said cheerfully, slapping John on the back, "come get something to eat."

As they were shunted to the kitchen, Scully felt a small hand slip into hers and looked down to see Lizzie smiling shyly up at her. She tightened her grip on the hand and Lizzie beamed.

"Hey, Dana!" Bill greeted happily, looking worn out as he joined them with Charlie and Matthew, who was out of breath.

"You slept in a while," Charlie commented, on his way over to Christi, who was leaning against the bench.

"I didn't sleep well," Scully replied. "I had some things on my mind."

She caught Matthew's curious gaze, and wondered whether she had already said too much. But Charlie did not press her further, and devoted the next several seconds to sharing a kiss with Christi. Scully could not help glancing to Lizzie, who was now holding onto her thigh, and saw she was grinning as she watched her Uncle Charlie and Aunt Christi kiss each other.

"So what are your wedding plans?" Tara asked, looking to John and Monica as they prepared themselves some breakfast.

"What kind of date did you have in mind?" Anne added, with an enthusiastic smile.

"We haven't really made any plans yet," John said. "We thought we'd leave it for a little while."

"I'd go mid-year if I were you," Deirdre said, disregarding John's statement. "You know it's beautiful around here in summer."

"We were thinking November," Monica ventured.

Anne looked blankly at her. "Why November?"

"Things will be more settled by then," Monica explained. "Summer isn't ideal. That's when your baby's due," she said to Tara, "and when Christi has her trip booked in to Europe. And we want you all there. By November Charlie will be back from the Navy, the baby will be several months old, we can all be together."

Scully did not miss the sad looks on the faces of Christi and Charlie, and knew they were both already dreading their parting, which would happen in six weeks when Charlie was due to report to the Navy again. It was February now, and his term did not end until October. It was a long absence.

"But I'd love to have you both as bride's maids," Monica said, aiming the comment at Scully and Christi.

"I'd be honoured," Christi said, brightening up again.

Scully did not have to give her assent; it went without saying.

"Well," Anne said, recovering, "November it is, if that's what you want."

"Uncle _Charlie_," Lizzie said, letting go of Scully's thigh and drifting over to the pair. "Why won't you and Aunt Cwisti get married?"

A smile split over Christi's face.

"Mom says you should," Lizzie went on, attaching herself to her uncle and looking up pleadingly into his face, "and _Dad _says you should, and Grandma said you should, and Grandma and Grandpa Mackenzie said you should ..."

"That's very democratic," Deirdre commented, looking on with amusement.

"Well that covers everyone except Dana," Charlie said. "What was her vote?"

"I don't know," Lizzie said seriously. "Mom said we're not allowed to ask her any questions."

"You can ask that one," Tara clarified with a wide smile.

Lizzie looked around at Scully with hopeful eyes, as though securing a unanimous vote would make it reality.

"Don't bother," Charlie said quickly. "I know that look on her face."

"But Uncle _Charlie _..."

"Well I can't ask Aunt Christi now, can I?" Charlie said seriously. "Aunt Monica and Uncle John only just engaged, and no woman likes shared glory. And besides, it wouldn't be a surprise."

"But Uncle Charlie!"

"And _besides_," Charlie added, giving her a playful poke which immediately extracted a giggle, "I'm not allowed to get married yet. You know it's a Scully family tradition, going back _centuries_, that the older siblings have to get married first. I can't propose to Aunt Christi until Uncle Mulder proposes to Aunt Dana."

This brought a look of dawning realisation over Lizzie's face. Completely missing the fact that he was joking, she looked over her shoulder, eyes searching out Uncle Mulder just as he slipped out in the direction of the dining table. She quickly trotted after him.

"Oh, that was cruel," Mrs Scully said to Charlie, as soon as she had gone.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Charlie said.

But several minutes later it appeared that Mulder had successfully deflected the entire topic, as they all heard fits of giggles ringing through the air and Scully ducked her head around to see Mulder had Lizzie in his lap, giggling and writhing like crazy as Mulder tickled her all over. A moment later he returned to the kitchen with her slung over his shoulder, giggling in delight. As he set his empty cereal bowl down on the sink he gave her another playful poke in the side, extracting a yelp and another fit of giggles as he tickled her.

"Let me know when you surrender," Mulder said playfully, acting as though she was going to be prisoner to his tickling all day long.

"Never!" Lizzie yelled, gasping the word in between bouts of laughter and sounding like she had adopted the phrase from a cartoon.

"You're a real Scully, aren't you?" Mulder commented, glancing over his shoulder at her.

Lizzie giggled again. Mulder gave her another tickle.

But then, seeing she was getting dizzy dangling over his shoulder, he said, "I'll let you off with a warning this time", and gently lowered her back down to the floor, where she took one of his hands in each of hers and looked up at him in newfound adoration.

Everyone in the room beamed at the interaction, especially Monica, who looked as if she was dying to adopt Lizzie as her own.

Matthew, however, gave his sister a bored look. "Dad, can I go back outside now?"

"I'm still a little tired from the last round," Bill answered. "What do you say we stay inside for a while?"

"I'll play with ya," John offered, setting down his empty plate.

Matthew looked delighted.

"I'll come too," Mulder joined in.

The men set off in the direction of the basketball ring. Everyone else retreated in the direction of the lounge suite with cups of coffee and to relax and chat. Scully, however, lingered in the kitchen with Monica, who had chosen herself an apple.

"Don't forget your medication," she advised, noticing that it was edging toward midday and she had still not taken it.

"I haven't forgotten," Monica said. She looked for a moment as though she was going to say more, but then caught sight of Lizzie, who had re-entered the kitchen holding onto Christi's hand. Christi opened the fridge door and proceeded to pour the girl a glass of orange juice. Lizzie drank eagerly, holding onto the glass with both hands and draining it in a series of big gulps.

"So what did Uncle Mulder say when you asked him?" Monica asked, smiling at Lizzie.

"It's a secret," Lizzie said, filled with conspiratorial importance.

"You won't even tell me?" Scully pleaded, playing along.

Lizzie shook her head happily.

"Is it good news?" Christi asked.

"I'm not telling," Lizzie said.

"Drat," Monica said, looking disappointed. "I was hoping you'd confide in us."

Lizzie beamed with importance, but then drifted to Scully's side, leaning against her again. Scully put her arm around her, enjoying her niece's spontaneous cuddling.

"Aunt Dana ..." Lizzie said thoughtfully.

"Yes?"

Lizzie looked up at her with a confused expression. "Why does Uncle Mulder have funny pants?"

"Funny pants?" Scully repeated. Mulder was indeed wearing an old pair of black sports pants instead of his usual jeans, but as to where funny came in, she wasn't sure.

"Why are they funny?" Monica asked.

"They _stick _out," Lizzie complained, screwing up her nose in distaste. She waved a hand vaguely in front of her own bright pink pants, and Scully immediately caught on - as did Christi, who spun around and put a hand to her mouth to keep from spitting her mouthful of coffee all over the kitchen floor. Monica beamed, looking highly amused, but shot Scully a sideways look, and Scully understood that the question was being left to her, as the privilege of being the biological aunt.

"Well," Scully said, kneeling down so she was at Lizzie's eye level, "he has funny pants because he's a boy. You've seen your Dad with no clothes on, haven't you?"

"Yes," Lizzie said.

"Well Uncle Mulder's the same. He has a penis just like your Dad does. Like Matthew does. Like all boys do."

Lizzie looked thoughtful. "Have you seen it?"

"Yes, I've seen it," Scully admitted, understanding that her innocent niece was only trying to make sense of things and wanted proof of this strange myth.

"And ..." Lizzie paused, trying to arrange her questions. "And _all _boys have that?"

"Yes, all boys have one," Scully confirmed. "That's what makes boys and girls different."

"Uncle Charlie has one?" Lizzie asked.

"Yes, Uncle Charlie has one," Scully answered. "And Uncle John has one, and Mr. Doggett and Grandpa Mackenzie. All boys, all men, have them."

"And what do _you _have?" Lizzie asked innocently.

Scully smiled. "Well I'm a girl. We're all girls. We look like your Mom, like you."

Lizzie smiled shyly, and Scully saw that it had all fallen neatly into place. To try to keep her from being embarrassed about asking, Scully pulled her toward her in a hug and kissed her on the cheek.

"Any other questions?"

Lizzie smiled upon Scully, then at Monica and Christi, and said sadly, "Why can't you come to San Diego?"

And now Scully hesitated. This question was a hundred times more difficult than handing out the facts of anatomy. She knew Bill and Tara had stuck to their line of telling the kids that they were "feeling sad", and that the kids knew this sadness was due to a famous plane crash. But past this, the information available to the kids was vague and everyone was putting in a full effort to ensure they did not stumble upon the real facts until they old enough to understand them.

Monica and Christi, who had let Scully handle the previous line of questioning, now stepped in to her rescue, kneeling down beside her.

"Sweetheart, we can't just yet," Christi said. "You know your Aunt Dana, Uncle Mulder, Aunt Monica and Uncle John are all feeling a little bit sad right now. And being here in Atlanta helps Uncle John, and all of us, feel better."

"But can't _you _come?" Lizzie pleaded, curling her fingers around Christi's wrist.

"Not just yet," Christi said. "I need to be here a little longer."

Lizzie looked sadly at Scully. "When will you feel happy again?"

"It won't be much longer," Monica said optimistically. "We're all feeling a little better already."

"You are?"

"Absolutely," Scully said. "And you know what? You help with that. I love having you around."

Lizzie glowed. She snuggled into Scully's side again.

"I love you, Aunt Dana."

Scully kissed her on the temple. "I love you, too."

XXX

It was evening. Bill, Tara, Tara's parents and the kids had left for San Diego several hours ago, and the house had calmed into a pleasant atmosphere. Scully sat outside by the pool, the outdoor lights casting a glimmer over the water as she relaxed with Monica. There was a chill in the air, but they had rugged up with coats and scarves, as the night was clear and beautiful. On the other side of the sliding doors, Mrs Scully and Anne were preparing a hot evening meal and Charlie was lounging around in front of the TV watching an old sitcom with Christi, talking softly in her ear, occasionally sharing kisses. Deirdre had taken Mulder upstairs for a talk, as she had requested of all of them at separate stages throughout the day, checking on their mental health. John appeared content in conversation with Jack, though Scully had no idea what they were discussing.

"How are things going between you and Mulder?" Monica asked quietly, tilting her head from her own reclined position to look at Scully.

"I think they're improving," Scully said uneasily.

"You looked like you were doing a lot better this morning."

Scully nodded, though uncomfortably. "We weren't heading toward sex. He was just helping me relax."

Monica gave her a concerned look. "Was it working?"

"I might've got there, yes," Scully said. It was hard to speculate.

But Monica's concerned look didn't abate. "You're still uncomfortable."

It was pointless to try lying to Monica, and after a moment Scully only nodded. But she offered no explanation, and after a moment, Monica sat up, swinging her legs to the ground again. When this didn't spur Scully into speech, she got up from her spot and joined Scully, perching on the edge of her chair and holding her hand.

"Dana, talk to me."

Scully did not look at Monica, and instead focused her attention on the pool, the glimmering light on the water's surface, the night sky and stars beyond with the shadows of trees rustling quietly.

"It's not the sex that's bothering me," Scully said softly, still watching the trees. "That'll work out, one way or another."

Monica squeezed her hand. "Then what is it?"

Scully hesitated, for a moment falling silent again. But Monica was so gentle, her concern so soft and genuine that she was impossible to turn away.

"What Lizzie said today," Scully said at last, heaving a heavy sigh. "Trying to get Mulder to propose."

"You know it didn't bother him," Monica said. "She was just being a playful child. And it'll happen eventually."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

Monica stared at her. Her eyes narrowed a little, not understanding.

Scully could not face her, and she felt hot tears behind her eyes as she focused her entire attention on a spot in the corner of the pool.

"You don't know what it's like," she said softly. "Not being able to have children. For me, it's been an incredibly hard thing to come to terms with. It's been very painful, seeing everyone around me do so easily what I can't. To be left behind. But I _have _come to terms with it, as difficult as it's been. I am resigned to the fact that all I will ever be is an aunt, and I've made up my mind to embrace that as much as I can. But having gone through that, feeling that agony and envy, there's no way I can rightly enforce the same torture on someone else. Especially someone I love and care about as much as Mulder."

"Are you saying you're afraid?" Monica said carefully. "Afraid that your relationship will deprive him of fatherhood?"

"You saw him today," Scully said. "The way he bonded with the kids, the way they fell in love with him. Monica, he'd make a fantastic father. And as long as he's with me -" Scully swallowed, holding back her tears "- that's never going to eventuate. And I love Mulder far too much to do that to him."

Monica stared at her, looking stunned. "Dana ..."

"I'm breaking up with him," Scully said, avoiding Monica's eyes.

She saw Monica's mouth fly open, and braced herself, but at that moment they were interrupted by shouting from inside the house, and they looked up through the sliding door and windows to see a strange man storming into the living room.

Jack was on his heels, his face filled with rage.

"GET OUT OF HERE!" he roared.

The man was in his thirties, and looked like a model straight off the catwalk. He was muscly and handsome, with blonde hair and blue eyes, but as he marched angrily across the living room and Christi leapt to her feet in alarm, Scully shot to her own - knowing in a split instant that this was the Mark they had been warned about. Alarmed for Christi's safety, and not even caring that she no longer had a gun, Scully ran for the sliding door, Monica on her heels.

"CHRISTI!" Mark roared, rounding the edge of the sofa as Charlie leapt in front of his girlfriend, pushing her safely behind him. As Scully threw the door aside with a crash, John joined them from the other side of the house, jogging to their aide, as Mulder bolted down the stairs with Deirdre.

"Call the Police!" Jack called to his wife, and Anne grabbed the phone, punching in the special local emergency contact Jana had supplied them with.

"What the _fuck _are you doing?" Mark demanded of Christi. Scully saw there were tears of rage in his eyes, and it was this emotion that always alarmed her the most as an FBI agent, that point of being at the end of the tether, a person who was completely irrational and unpredictable, and therefore deadly dangerous.

"Don't say a word!" John told Christi, reaching her and Charlie's side. He put a hand on his sister's arm. Scully stood at the opposite end of the sofa with Monica and Mulder, cutting off Mark's line of retreat. Monica removed her sling, freeing her arm for action.

"You know we're FBI," John said, voice deadly level. "And you're trespassin'. You can get the hell out now, or we're arrestin' your sorry ass."

Mark looked as though he hadn't even heard, looking hard at Charlie, who was looking back as though he wanted nothing more than to commit murder.

"So you're the one screwin' her?" Mark asked, sizing him up.

Charlie said nothing.

"ANSWER ME!" Mark roared suddenly.

Christi stepped forward, pushing John's hand off her arm, her face hard with rage.

"Yes, he is," she said viciously. "Now _get _out of here, you're not welcome."

"It's not even two weeks," Mark said, now turning his attention to Christi. "_Two weeks _and you're looking for someone to _fuck you_?"

The words stung Scully, in sympathy for Christi and not wanting her sex life broadcast to the entire house. But Mark's body stance, his voice intonation, were still extremely violent. There was going to be trouble. She glanced around her, searching for a weapon of some kind, but there was nothing handy. And despite John's threat, none of them were armed, and none of them had their handcuffs on them, not bothering to carry them around in recent days. And that left tackling him physically, unless the police could arrive first. She hoped they could keep him talking long enough for the police to arrive and take over.

"He hasn't _fucked _me," Christi said viciously. "He makes love to me. Something you know nothing about."

"And I suppose you _like _that?" Mark asked. "Tell me, can he make you scream like I can? Does he have you begging like I do? Wanting it again and _again_, inviting me to -"

WHAM! In one swift movement Charlie flew forward and punched Mark in the head, throwing him off balance and falling back into the couch. But Mark was fit, and was on his feet again before Charlie caught up with him. Scully started forward, but only took half a step before leaping sideways out of the way as Charlie and Mark wrestled each other in spiralling footsteps toward the sliding door, nearly colliding with her. Mulder grabbed Monica, pulling her back out of the way only just in time. Charlie caught his footing just as they reached the open sliding door, and threw Mark out onto the pavement by the pool before running after him. He threw a punch at his head, but missed, and Mark ducked and threw one square into Charlie's stomach. Scully found herself sprinting out to join him. Cutting in front of Charlie she took Mark by surprise, throwing a punch into his head, throwing him off balance again and following it up with an elbow into his stomach. He doubled over, but spun around again, hitting her hard right on the bruise on her abdomen before lifting her up as though she weighed nothing and throwing her away into the pool, where she crashed painfully into the freezing water.

"DANA!"

"SCULLY!"

She heard everyone yelling in terror as pain soared throughout her entire body. Then there was a splash beside her as someone dived in, and a pair of arms wrapped around under her armpits, hoisting her to her feet. Scully opened her eyes, blinking away water, and saw it was Christi, blonde hair now dark and straight under the weight of water, soaked from head to toe.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah," Scully lied, panting as the waves of agony rolled out from the bruise on her abdomen.

Christi continued to hold her up and Scully made no move to try to head for the edge of the pool. Her eyes instead found Mark and she watched as Mulder and John tore forward as he went for Charlie again. But as they reached him, Scully saw a group of police officers running through the living room toward them, and Mulder and John managed to each grab an arm of Mark's as the police finally joined them, instantly putting him under arrest.

Scully's eyes then searched for Charlie. He looked distinctly the worse for wear, but not badly injured. Next she searched for Monica, and found her standing in the living room still, Jack holding her back with a hand hard on her upper arms, keeping her out of danger, knowing she was useless with her damaged arm. As Scully watched Jack released her, and the remainder of their family: Mrs Scully, Anne, and Deirdre, also made their way out to join them by the pool.

As the officers handcuffed Mark, Charlie straightened up, and still catching his breath, walked to the edge of the pool, slid in, and then waded towards where Scully stood, Christi's arms around her as the pain still tore out from the bruise that had still been healing.

"Are you all right?" Charlie asked her, eyes narrowing with concern.

"No, she's not," Christi answered. "He hit her bruise."

"Bring her over here," Anne commanded, marching forward down the edge of the pool, once again the nurse she had been for the past forty years.

Scully was weak with pain, and made no protest as Charlie lifted her into his arms and slowly carried her to the edge of the pool, where John and Mulder took her, lifting her onto the paving.

"Lie her down," Anne ordered, and Scully felt them lowering her backwards as Anne slid a soft woollen scarf under the back of her head. "Jack, get some ice."

She felt Anne lifting up her layers of clothing, and then the feeling of the cool night air against her bare stomach, but Scully turned her head to look back out to the pool, in which Charlie still stood with Christi, their eyes on Mark, who had once again found his voice.

"YOU SLUT!" he yelled at Christi. "YOU HEAR ME? YOU'RE A FUCKING SLUT!"

"MOVE!" the police officers ordered, forcing him along back into the house.

Tears appeared in Christi's eyes as he finally disappeared.

"Are you okay?" Charlie asked her, gently tucking her wet blonde hair back behind her ears.

Christi nodded. "I'm okay ..."

Charlie stepped closer to her, kissing her softly on the forehead.

"You're _not _a slut," he said. "You're a beautiful lady. The lady I love."

Christi's eyes softened with love, and she slid her arms around his waist, burying her face in his shoulder. Charlie held her flush against him, stroking her wet back lovingly, kissing her hair. Scully saw tears of love in his eyes and knew he had meant what he had said.

"_Ow_!"

Scully winced as a handful of ice wrapped in a towel made contact with her abdomen, held there by Anne. But a second later she adjusted, the pain eased, and Scully could not help returning her attention to Charlie and Christi, who were still holding each other, Charlie raining soft kisses down on Christi's hair.

After a moment, Christi loosened her grip and pulled back, sniffing and wiping her eyes. Charlie gently helped her, wiping the beads of saltwater off her cheeks. When they were all gone, Christi looked up into his eyes, and Scully saw that her deep blue eyes reflected the same love in Charlie's, and without a word Charlie dipped his head a little and caught her lips in a soft kiss.

It was gentle, their lips barely moving, but they held it for a long time before Charlie gently broke away. He leaned his forehead against hers, looping his arms around her waist. Her eyes were closed, soaking in his comfort as he again lifted his lips and dropped a fresh kiss on her forehead.

"Marry me," Charlie said softly.

Scully could not believe her ears - felt Anne's hands halt abruptly in the middle of examining her abdomen - but no, it was no hallucination as Christi's eyes opened and she stood back, staring at him.

But the sincerity was written all over his face. Charlie's eyes were softer than Scully had ever seen them, in all 34 years of knowing her little brother. He looked like he could barely breathe with love for Christi, and held her with a gentleness that showed he worshipped everything about her.

Christi was speechless. She stared into his eyes, her chest faintly moving up and down.

Charlie trailed his fingers lovingly down her cheek.

"Think about it," he said.

He kissed her on the forehead again, but Christi pulled back, still shocked by what she had heard. She stared at him, searching his eyes and his expression, and then, after a long moment, a smile erupted on her lips, and her blue eyes shone.

"Yes," she said, nodding as she slid her hands around his waist again.

Now it was Charlie's turn to stare. "Yes?"

Christi grinned. "Yes."

* * *

_This fic can be a bit of a hit and miss at times. Sometimes, like the last chapter, I feel like it landed right on target. Others, like this one, I think I completely buggered it up. But I had to spontaneously re-work my plan and it wasn't until Mark stormed in that I found my feet again. Hopefully we're back on track now. Either way, I finally got the proposal in - YAY! - so the chapter isn't a complete loss. _


	32. Chapter 32

HUGE thanks to Daisyz, kaidiii & shelshel14 for leaving feedback. You guys keep me writing!

* * *

_**Chapter 62 - Overcoming Pride**_

"Oh my God!"

Mrs Scully was the first to react, looking overjoyed, and stepped forward to rush for them, but was held back by the fact that Christi and Charlie were both still standing in the centre of the pool, dripping wet and in a cold breeze. Scully, from her position lying on the paving with a beaming Anne holding a makeshift ice pack to her abdomen, glanced at John, and saw he was still too stunned to form a reaction. Monica, too, was surprised. Mulder, however, was smiling with a knowing look and Scully remembered that he had predicted several days ago that the two would be engaged within the week. _How had he known?_

"Here," Charlie said, breaking their passionate kiss and walking his beaming fiancé to the edge of the pool. "Jump out, you're soaking ..."

John fumbled his way out of shock and went to help Christi and Charlie out of the pool. Scully saw her mom now finish her hurrying forward and embrace the two in a flurry of congratulations and a rush of words which included everything from the fact that they were a perfect couple and they all _knew _it would happen - _though not so soon!_ - to the floods of delight she expressed to Christi at gaining another daughter.

"Ma'am, do you need a doctor?"

Scully looked up and saw a police officer looking down at her with concern. It was the same expression on Anne's face, who had looked like she wanted to hug her daughter and new son, but was held back by grave concern. Scully had suffered internal damage only a week before in the exact same position Mark had hit her.

The police officer's words snapped the euphoria like a gunshot, and the huddle of hugs and kisses broke.

"No, I'm okay," Scully said, reaching to take the ice pack from Anne with one hand, and trying to push herself up with her other, as the pain still pounded out from her bruise.

"Lie back down," Mulder ordered, dropping to his knees in a flash and seizing her shoulders, pushing her down.

"Mulder, I'm fine -"

"You're _not_."

It was Monica who had spoken, and like Mulder, she dropped to her knees beside her, pushing her back down until she was flat on the paving again, her head resting on the soft scarf. Scully obeyed, but she eyed Monica's expression with a sense of foreboding - there was a hard intensity in her eyes that was not entirely composed of sympathy and fear. Scully recalled their conversation immediately before Mark's arrival and knew that the conversation was not finished.

Their eyes locked. Monica's expression only seemed to harden another degree.

"Dana, if you ever do anything that _silly _again, I'll skin you alive."

"Which part are you callin' silly?" John asked, kneeling down beside them and looking confused. "The part where she prevented her own brother gettin' a brain injury?"

"No," Monica said firmly. "The part where you got involved at all, overestimated your own strength and got tossed aside like a rag doll."

"Come on, Monica," Anne said softly, reaching out to take her elbow. "She was just trying to protect everyone. Doing what she thought was right."

Monica fell silent. Scully saw her anger abate, knowing Anne was right, but in its place came tears, shining in her eyes.

"You could've been killed," Monica said softly.

"I'm fine," Scully said, and to prove it, she again pushed herself up, setting aside the icepack and pulling down her clothes over her stomach. This time, no one pushed her back down. "It's just a bruise."

"It was _just _organ damage," Monica corrected, on the verge of tears. "And think what could have happened if his aim had been out. You could've cracked your head on the edge of the pool. Broken your neck, had spinal damage, quadriplegic or -"

"Monica, calm down," Deirdre said. She knelt down beside her and put a strong arm around her. "None of that happened. It's just a bruise that we ice for a while. Dana's absolutely fine. You're going to have her around for a long, long time to come."

Scully knew Deirdre had pinned down the real issue: Monica's intense fear of losing more people she loved. And Scully, Mulder and John were all top of that list. Seeing Monica's tears begin to silently spill out, and remembering with a sharp pain in her heart at how her friend had attempted suicide only a few days before, Scully rushed to reassure her.

"I'm _okay_," she said, taking Monica's cold hand in hers. "We're _all _okay."

"I don't think you are," Monica countered. "I can see you're still in pain, though you keep lying to us all because you're ashamed of weakness and somehow think you're sparing us pain. And I know you still harbour a hundred other unresolved problems you can barely face and are eating away at you like parasites. I know you still haven't fixed what you're going through with Mulder and that's worrying you a hell of lot more than you'll admit. I know you're _terrified _you'll never recover your career and the self-respect you build on that. And I know that right now your mental health is deteriorating because you're looking at my engagement with John, and Christi's with Charlie and seeing a long line of pregnancies and babies as cute as Matthew and Lizzie that you're never going to be able to have, and that you told me only minutes ago you're going to break up with Mulder and run because it's easier than having to talk to him about it, or talking to _all _of us about it and letting everyone help you. And what concerns me most of all is that I know it's only going to take one split second of you thinking about these things to trigger another anxiety attack and in the blink of an eye you won't be able to breathe and we'll be back at the ICU praying for your life."

Scully was silenced, her heart pounding in her chest. The air around them fell conspicuously quiet. She did not dare look at Mulder.

There was a long moment in which no one said anything.

Eventually, it was Anne who broke it, asking quietly, "You can't have children?"

The question brought more pain to Scully's chest. She felt Mulder's arm settle lovingly around her shoulders, and somehow this sign of his full understanding, without a trace of anger, only made it all hurt more. She felt hot tears stinging the backs of her eyes.

"She was diagnosed as barren a couple of years ago," Mrs Scully answered for her. "She had an early menopause."

"Oh, Dana ..." Christi started, but trailed off, lost for words.

"Well there are always other ways," Deirdre suggested. "You could adopt, or there's always donor eggs, surrogate motherhood ..."

"I don't want to talk about it," Scully said, feeling her chest tighten.

"Dana," Monica said gently, "that's _exactly _the problem."

"No, stop," Anne said suddenly. "She means it, she can't breathe."

Scully felt Mulder's arm leave her as he shifted back to let Anne in. Then she felt Anne's hand slip into her hair, holding her close. With her other hand she took one of Scully's and held it against her diaphragm. She felt Deirdre's hand on her shoulder.

"I'm getting help," Jack said quickly.

"Dana," Anne said calmly, "You know this is an anxiety attack. Just recognise it for what it is, and get control again."

Scully could feel her rib cage expanding and contracting with increasing speed, and tried to focus on Anne's words, but all her mind could focus on was the stinging from Monica's recent words, the voicing of every one of her problems that was painfully spot on. _Sex troubles with Mulder ... career and self-respect ... engagements and pregnancies ... mental deterioration ..._

"Come on, Dana," Anne said firmly. "You're medically trained. You're a _doctor _and you can get hold of this. _Feel _your breathing. Slow down and focus on me."

And this time she heard Anne's words. She was a doctor, she _had _to coach herself to get control of these attacks. Mature and responsible in facing them ... yes, she could feel her rapid breathing. With enormous effort she tried to slow it, taking deep breaths instead of quick, shallow ones.

"That's it," Anne said encouragingly. "That's good."

Scully focused on Anne - her words, her hand holding her own firmly against her diaphragm. She counted the breaths, slow and steady.

"That's excellent," Anne said, sounding relieved.

"I need to lie down," Scully said, feeling suddenly dizzy.

"Okay," Anne agreed, helping her down gently onto her side in the recovery position, Scully's cheek against the soft scarf. "Lie down right here for a minute."

Anne adjusted her grip on Scully's hand so she was instead holding her wrist against the base of her ribs, a strategy in the medical field to monitor a person's pulse and breathing with just one hand.

Scully closed her eyes, but she heard Monica ask worriedly, "Is she going to be all right?"

"She's fine," Anne answered comfortably.

"We've got to get her out of those wet clothes," Mulder said, his hand settling lovingly in her wet hair. Scully felt a surge of love for Mulder. Monica had admitted everything, and yet he understood perfectly, not getting angry with her as many men would have.

"In a minute," Anne said. "Let her rest a moment longer."

"Mulder ..."

She reached out blindly for his hand and he wrapped his strong hand around hers. She felt him lift her hand and then his warm lips as he kissed it.

"Don't worry about a thing, Scully," he said. "We're going to sort it all out. Every one of those problems is history already."

"You should have told us this was bothering you," Deirdre said, squeezing her shoulder. "Next time don't leave it till the last minute. I don't want to be hearing this through Monica."

"Damn right," John added.

"These anxiety attacks, too," Mrs Scully said, and Scully felt her mother's hand on her back. "You need to learn how to deal with them. Grab hold of one of us the second you feel it coming."

"Absolutely," Anne agreed. "If it's embarrassment you're worried about, you can consider that it's far less painful to pull one of us aside for thirty seconds rather than end up on the ground like this."

"And when it comes to children," Christi added, "you seem to have missed the fact that if we all do end up having kids like you say then you're going to be co-mother with us whether you like it or not. Especially if you stay here with us in Atlanta. And that's not even mentioning Matthew and Lizzie, your own flesh and blood. When they came here yesterday they were _thrilled _to see you. They absolutely _adore _you. And there's no reason why you can't love them, be a central part of their lives. I'm positive that Bill and Tara would _love _for you to get closer to them, have them to stay regularly, build an ongoing, close relationship. Tara would probably love it over the months to come, or around the birth, if we were to take the kids for a break. Dana, there's no end to the love you can share with them, or with any children that we might be blessed with in the future. I mean, what do you think's going to happen? Do you really think that anyone here is immature enough to get territorial or jealous? Do you think if you share any more than one cuddle a year we're going to challenge you to a duel? Personally, I'd be absolutely over the moon. You are a fantastic role model for any child."

"Couldn't have put it better myself," Charlie said. "Besides which any kids we might have are a long way off anyway. You know I have to report to the Navy in another month, and I'll be at sea till October. And Monica -"

He broke off. They all knew what Monica's problem was.

"It's not our immediate plan, either," John filled in. "Not for a while. Till you and all of us are feelin' a little better."

Scully was so touched her dizziness receded, and she rolled over from her recovery position onto her back again, looking up at the ring of people standing and kneeling around her.

"That's better," Mrs Scully said, glad to see a smile.

"Well that's two down," Deirdre said with a smile. "We'll leave Mulder to help you with the sex and the career factor we can work on once you figure out which direction you'd like to head in. But in the meantime, be honest with me."

"I will," Scully assured her. Then she caught sight of Christi, who was shivering with her arms crossed over her dripping wet clothes. "You'd better go change before you get hypothermia."

This statement brought Charlie to his senses, and he glanced her up and down and put his arm around her to lead her away.

"We'll be back in a few," he said.

"And Charlie," Monica said.

Halfway to the sliding door, Charlie stopped. Monica smiled awkwardly at Christi, and she discretely left, smiling to herself.

"Buy her any ring you like," Monica said. "We'll cover the cost."

"No matter what it is," John added, wanting his sister to be adequately spoilt.

"Thanks, but I can afford it," Charlie said. "I have some money saved."

"Do as you're told," Scully overruled firmly. "If you come back with anything short of the thousands she's worth we're going to have words."

Charlie gave a lopsided grin. Scully grinned back.

"And Charlie?"

He turned back as Anne called his name.

"For God's sake don't come 'back in a few'," she said, giving him a look with a twinkle in her eye.

Charlie went faintly red.

XXX

"Use the bathroom," Mulder ordered, leading Scully along the upstairs hallway. "Make sure you're not bleeding."

Scully was sure, but it was easier to play along than to argue.

"And take your clothes off and dry yourself," Monica added, John beside her. "We'll get you some fresh clothes."

Scully nodded, and the three of them left her alone as she went into the bathroom - Mulder standing guard with a worried look as she closed the door. She used the toilet, and despite her confidence was still relieved to see her urine looked normal, and then crossed to the bathroom sink and washed her hands. As she dried them, taking a large white towel from the rack, she studied her reflection in the mirror. She was incredibly pale, and her skin didn't look as healthy as it had before the crash. Neither did her emaciated figure, of course, but she was slowly gaining weight as she began to eat full, regular meals, and on that count it was only a matter of time. But, pulling two layers of dripping wet clothing over her head, so she stood there topless except for her black bra, she stared at the ugly bruise stretching across her abdomen. It had been healing, but would be black for a while longer now. She would have to ice it, too. 

But no, what bothered her the most was the fact that she knew Monica had been right. She was definitely not as fit and healthy as she had been previously. There was no weight to her, in either fat or muscle, and to take on a healthy man like Mark had been a long shot. Only a month ago she would have been able to bring him down - due to her physical fitness and her FBI training. Now, however ...

"Scully?"

Mulder tapped on the unlocked door and opened it slightly, putting his head around.

"Come in," Scully said, returning her attention to her pale and depleted figure in the mirror.

He shut the door behind him and then dropped some fresh clothes on the bench beside the sink.

"You need some help?" he asked, stepping up behind her.

"Just my pants," Scully said. "It's a little painful to bend over."

"Well," he said, smiling cheekily as he looped his arms around her waist in a hug and then reached for her zip. "Don't let it be said that I never helped you take down your pants."

She smiled at his playfulness as he threw down her zip and then pulled them down, helped them off at her ankles. Her underwear followed. He put both items aside in a pile on top of the tops she had already removed, and then took his place behind her again, snapping open her bra with two fingers. She let him slide it down her arms, and watched in the mirror as he appreciated the sight.

But it was short-lived as he picked up the white, king size towel and wrapped it snugly around her body. He then tucked his arms around her front and held her snug against him.

Scully let out a breath, closing her eyes and enjoying the comfort she didn't feel she deserved.

"How long were you feeling this way?"

Scully sighed. "Since yesterday, after Monica and John got engaged."

"And when Matthew and Lizzie were here," Mulder concluded.

Scully gave a tiny nod.

"Why did you tell Monica you wanted to end it?"

"Because I love you," Scully said, a little defensively. "Because I saw how you made Lizzie laugh, played with Matthew, and I can't bear to have it on my conscience for the next forty years that I was the cause of your unhappiness."

"Do I look unhappy?" Mulder asked, rubbing his hands over the towel wrapped tight around her, warming her and drying her.

"Well I'm hardly making _you _happy," Scully answered.

"And is that what you think?" Mulder countered. "That all this has ever been about is sex? Do you think I'm incapable of understanding that watching eighteen of your friends and colleagues die, cutting into the bodies, and watching Monica nearly die might just have a tiny affect on your ability to get aroused?"

Scully said nothing.

"As I thought," he said quietly.

There was a pause. Scully avoided his eyes in the mirror.

"I do love you, Mulder."

"I know," he said. He sighed, and his voice softened. "Scully, I just wish you'd get on top of this. Swallow your _stubborn _Scully pride. Because although I know you _hate _hearing it, the fact is that Monica was right. Anne was right, Deirdre was right, and your Mom were right. And until you learn to stop running and start asking for help without feeling ashamed you're only going to keep having these anxiety attacks, and we're going to keep going around in circles, getting nowhere."

Scully stayed quiet.

"I mean, I don't understand what's so hard," he went on. "There isn't anyone downstairs that you should feel uncomfortable with. You have your Mom, your brother, Monica and John, your sister-in-law, and Anne and Jack who whether you realise it or not, want to adopt you as their own. And as for Deirdre, Scully, she's not only trained in all this, but she's your own family now. _Everyone _downstairs is your own loving family. They've all given up their lives to help us, opened their house to us, spending weeks and probably months with us, here every moment, loving you every moment ... and you still shut them out and keep them at arm's length out of some illogical fear of admitting weakness. And that's the greatest weakness of all when dealing with illness like this. Scully, as fragile as Monica is, as scarred as those assholes from Mexico have left her, she has still embraced the love she's been offered. You've seen her hugging Anne constantly, asking for comfort whenever these feelings hit. And after being held a minute or two she's all right. And John's exactly the same. He's never hesitated to talk to Deirdre, never hesitated to draw comfort from hugging his sister, or his mother ... are you getting my meaning?"

"I am," Scully said, wiping away a stray tear as her guilt and shame flooded her. "I know what you're saying."

"Good," Mulder said. "Because let me give it to you straight: If you don't face this now, you're going to die."

The words hit hard, and Scully had to take a slow breath to hold them down.

"So let's beat it right now," Mulder went on. "You're going to _learn _to ask for help. When you feel depressed, when you feel tears coming, when you find yourself remembering things, when you feel even the slightest trouble breathing, you're going to _go _to someone, _take _them aside, and _ask for help_."

"Okay," Scully said, wiping her tears and nodding to stop Mulder's sudden flow of overwhelming determination. Monica was tenacious when she saw cause to be, but Mulder was equal to several of her.

"All right," Mulder said.

There was a knock at the door, accompanied by John's voice.

"Dana, there's a doctor here."

"We'll be right down," Scully replied. Then, in a softer voice, she said to Mulder, "I'm going to need your help getting dressed."

He nodded, pulling the towel away from her.

"I'm going to have a talk with Deirdre," Mulder said quietly. "I'm going to tell her what we've discussed and ask if she can help you."

Scully nodded. She had never expected that Mulder would drop the issue just on her word alone. He would follow it through, make sure progress was made.

Scully turned around as they both worked to get her dressed, the pounding muscles in her abdomen still preventing her from bending over.

"Are you angry?"

She watched his face. He was hard to read.

"Scully -"

He broke off, shaking his head. He took a deep, careful breath.

"I'm not angry," he said, and the way he tucked her wet hair back behind her ear was evidence of his sincerity. "I'm just ... absolutely _fucking _terrified. I don't want to lose you, and the longer this goes on, the more and more I feel that it's only a matter of time. I'm scared of these anxiety attacks, I'm scared that sometimes I catch the same look in your eyes that Monica had when she collapsed, and at the very least I'm scared you're going to be permanently impaired by Post Traumatic Stress Disorder if you continue to run from your problems."

Scully nodded, but his fear was a little overwhelming.

"I love you," he said, holding her head in his hands.

Scully nodded again. "I know. I love you too."

XXX

The doctor turned out to be a man named Michael Kelly from a local hospital, who, unbeknownst to Scully and the others, Jana had contacted and put on standby in case they needed someone. He was professional to a fault, and after examining her abdomen, examining the rest of her, and firing a thousand questions related to her general health, proceeded to urgently suggest she come into the hospital for scans, to double check she was all right. Scully, however, was adamant that she was fine, and after a firm disagreement between them he gave in, but only on the grounds that Scully was a doctor, and after securing a definite promise from Anne that she would watch her closely.

"She'll be fine," Anne assured, handing Scully an ice pack from the kitchen freezer. "She'll be under my constant watch."

At last, he left.

"I used to work with him when I was a nurse," Anne supplied, as Scully lingered in the kitchen with her and her own mother. "We were in road trauma. He's a brilliant man, saved a lot of lives."

Scully was not surprised. When it came to medical contacts, the FBI only had the best of the best.

"Dana, the ice goes on the wound," Mrs Scully said, nodding pointedly down at her stomach.

Scully looked down at the ice pack in her hand, already forgetting about it. With a sigh, she lifted up her top a little and slid the icepack underneath.

"Are you feeling okay?" Anne asked carefully, narrowing her eyes a little at Scully's expression.

"I'm fine," Scully answered, but as soon as the words left her mouth, Mulder's expression flashed back into her mind. He was upstairs right now talking to Deirdre, and she couldn't help being a little nervous about where that would lead. Had he been in the room she could only imagine his expression at hearing the blatant lie. Or Monica, who was currently cosied up on the couch with John, talking wedding plans with Christi and Charlie - who were both so over the moon with happiness and gooey new love that it had been too much for Scully to be even in the same room. She had already heard mention of late October as a date, as soon as Charlie got back, with Scully, Monica, and Christi's best friend Georgia - who taught with her at their school - all as bride's maids. Charlie was already planning to sell his house in San Diego, and move in with Christi. Then there was talk of renovations to improve the house, spare bedrooms so Matthew and Lizzie could come to stay, and they would have to be part of the wedding too ...

"Excuse me," Anne said, and after touching Scully affectionately on the arm, she drifted out of the room.

Scully saw her Mom's mouth open the second Anne was gone.

"Dana -"

"Mom, I'm fine," Scully said, and it came out a little more short-tempered than she had intended. She averted her eyes. The ice pack resting against her abdomen was for some reason shaking as her hand refused to remain steady.

She felt her Mom's hand on her shoulder.

"Dana, _please _..."

"Dana?"

Scully looked up to the doorway and saw John's worried eyes looking back at her. Anne had returned with both him and Monica.

"Dana, what's wrong?" Monica asked, hurrying across the room with John. In a flash she had her hand on Scully's shoulder, trying to catch Scully's eyes and peer into them. The hand moved to the back of her neck, trying to steer her to look at her, but Scully resisted.

"Get Deirdre," John said.

"She's upstairs with Mulder," Mrs Scully explained.

"I don't care. Get her right now."

"Dana, what's the matter?" Monica asked, still trying to catch her eyes. Scully distantly felt John's strong arm around her shoulders.

"Are you ill?" John asked. "Sick? In pain?"

Scully faintly shook her head. Her hand holding the ice pack shook. She stared without really seeing anything.

"It's like a reaction ..." Charlie said.

"Can she breathe?" came Christi's urgent voice.

Scully felt John rip up her top and then his large flat palm rested over the base of her ribs.

"She's breathing normal," he reported, sounding even more confused.

"She's shaking," Monica said.

"Get something to wrap her in," Anne ordered urgently. "It looks like she's going into shock."

Scully felt John's hand settle over her own, trying to remove the ice pack from her, but she resisted, holding it even tighter.

"Scully?"

Mulder's voice sounded more worried than everyone else's put together.

"Don't panic," came Deirdre's voice, completely at ease. "If you panic, she panics. Just stay calm."

"What's wrong with her?" Mrs Scully asked.

"Just stay calm," Deirdre repeated softly.

"Here's a blanket," came Jack's voice.

"Thanks," Deirdre replied. Scully felt Deirdre, John and Monica all wrap it around her shoulders. "Now I want all of you to step outside."

"But -" Mulder started.

"All of you," Deirdre repeated calmly.

There was a pause.

"Come on," Mrs Scully said. "Fox -"

Scully at last heard several pairs of retreating footsteps. She felt John let go of her.

"Monica," Anne said quietly.

And Scully felt Monica reluctantly let go as well.

There was a moment of quiet, no sound other than soft footsteps going into the other room. Deirdre was holding the blanket over Scully's shoulders.

"All right," Deirdre said calmly. "They've all gone now."

A knot somewhere in Scully's stomach uncoiled itself. She was almost surprised by the relief she felt. But still she avoided Deirdre's eyes, keeping her head bowed slightly, staring at the blue of Deirdre's jeans. Deirdre held the blanket closed with one hand, and with her other delicately swept back Scully's damp hair.

"What year were you born?" Deirdre asked, tucking back her hair, squeezing her shoulder.

Scully didn't reply.

"I know perfectly well you can hear me," Deirdre said. "Tell me your birth date."

"I -"

Scully broke off, trying to find the date in her shocked mind.

"I'm thinking it was the 60s," Deirdre suggested.

"'64," Scully replied automatically.

"64," Deirdre repeated with interest. "Right between John and Christi. What month?"

"February," Scully said.

"February," Deirdre repeated again. "You must have a birthday coming up soon. What date?"

"The 23rd."

She became aware that Deirdre had gently taken hold of her hands and was lowering her to the floor.

"Let's sit down," Deirdre said casually. "Just you and me."

Feeling strangely shaky, Scully tried to bring back her senses, and carefully lowered herself to the floor, sitting with her back to the kitchen cupboards. She finally glanced into Deirdre's eyes on the way down, but saw only kindness there, mixed with her professionalism as a psychologist. Deirdre tucked the blanket around her again, and then reached for the ice pack.

"Hold this to your bruise," Deirdre instructed, passing it to Scully's hands.

Scully's hands were still shaking slightly, but she lifted her top a little and slid the ice pack underneath again, holding it there.

"So you were born in '64," Deirdre went on, sitting comfortably on the kitchen floor in front of her. "How much older than you is Bill?"

"Five years," Scully said, relaxing with her head leaning back against the cupboard. "Melissa was two, Charlie three younger."

"I've heard your relationship with Melissa was close. I can see you get along well with Charlie. What was your relationship with Bill like?"

Scully became faintly aware that this was no longer an idle conversation, as it had been for the past few minutes, purely reciting dates as a strategy to bring her back and relax her with non-threatening questions and responses. But she felt strangely relaxed now. She looked comfortably into Deirdre's blue eyes - identical to Anne's and Christi's - and reeled her mind back to her childhood days on the base.

"Competitive," she answered finally.

"I can imagine it would've been," Deirdre said. "Your father sounds like an incredible man. Navy Captain, extremely intelligent, and yet rarely home. It must've been a bit of a fight for attention those rare occasions he was around."

"Yes, it was," Scully admitted. She could recall those days, the joy of having him arrive home, often counting down the days on the calendar.

"Was he proud when you were accepted into medicine?"

"Incredibly," Scully answered, and she smiled as she recalled those days, back when she had been planning to conquer the world. Her father hugging her, saying she was destined for great things.

"And once you got into medicine," Deirdre said, stringing it all together, "you chose to specialise in autopsies."

"Forensic pathology," Scully said. "I remember I liked the problem solving. No noise, no chaotic emergency rooms, just a problem and a logical path to find the solution."

"It must have involved a lot of shutting down of emotions at first," Deirdre said. "Becoming detached."

At last, Scully could see what Deirdre was digging for.

"Yes, it did," she admitted. "But we soon got used to it. It didn't bother me for very long. It tends to bother other people more; people at the Bureau who stand in on autopsies and find they can barely glimpse at the body."

"The FBI strikes me as another tough career," Deirdre said. "A lot of masking of emotions. The same underlying competitive drive to be the best, to never appear weak."

"Yes, it is," Scully said.

Deirdre nodded to herself.

Scully could not stand it any longer. She looked Deirdre straight in the eye. "Mulder's had a word with you."

"He's had several," Deirdre replied comfortably. "And a few of them concerned you. He's extremely worried about you, and I think with very good reason."

Scully nodded, holding Deirdre's concerned, professional gaze. She knew her actions of the past few minutes in the kitchen had confirmed all of Mulder's suspicions.

"Can we talk?" Deirdre asked.

"Yes," Scully said, knowing there was no getting away this time.

Deirdre reached forward and took her spare hand. Her grip was comfortable, non-threatening.

"I'd like to tell you what I see," Deirdre said cautiously. When Scully did not object, she went on. "I see a very kind, intelligent woman, who has from birth, had the best training possible in being strong, in control, and to some extent emotionally detached. As a child you fought with Bill, competed with him for your father's approval. As a student in school you pushed yourself as hard as you possibly could, to the extent that you made it into medicine, where you were very deliberately trained to be emotionally detached, to be an idol of strength and control. And then you went to the FBI, and they added their own extra dose on top of all of that. For nearly forty years, you have been trained to be this strong, constantly in control woman, calm no matter what the world throws at you. And the problem now is, that when you're dealing with this kind of trauma, that kind of ingrained behaviour is your absolute worst enemy." Deirdre paused. "Would you agree?"

"It's a fair analysis," Scully said, slightly uncomfortable.

Deirdre's hand tightened. "I'm going to stop there for a minute, because I can see you're already uncomfortable." She squeezed Scully's hand. "Tell me. When you studied medicine, did you spend much time on psychiatry?"

"A couple of months," Scully said. "I have to admit, though, it wasn't my favourite subject. And it's been many years since I've had any direct contact with it."

"I think you might benefit from having a read about trauma and post-traumatic stress. For someone like you, I think understanding what's going on would go a long way in defeating it."

Scully nodded. She had not really thought of it that way. Everything had been so messed up for several weeks now that it had been impossible to look at it through professional eyes.

"I have some books I'll bring over," Deirdre said. "And you know you're welcome to use the Internet here anytime."

"Thank you," Scully said. Somehow, the idea of study appealed to her, a way to find reason and logic in their messed up lives. A way of taking control again.

"Now I'm not going to go into what just happened in here, or out by the pool, because I don't think you're quite ready yet. But I would like to discuss some prevention strategies."

Scully nodded. She felt slight relief at not being immediately dragged into an analysis of what had happened to her only minutes ago. She did not really know herself.

Deirdre squeezed her hand again. "All right. I want you to start with four simple words: I'm not feeling well. Say it for me."

"I'm not feeling well," Scully repeated.

"That's good," Deirdre said. "I want you to say it again, and look me in the eye."

Scully took a deep breath, forcing herself to meet Deirdre's eyes.

"I'm not feeling well," she repeated.

"_Excellent_," Deirdre said, leaning forward and smiling. "See? It's not hard."

Her enthusiasm was so genuine, that Scully could not help sharing a small smile.

"Now that's exactly what I want you to say whenever these feelings arise. When you feel depressed, confused, overwhelmed, upset, anxious, tense, or even if you just don't want to be alone, I want you to walk up to someone, take their hand or their arm, and say those words. Then whoever it is can give you a little extra help until it passes, all with a minimum of embarrassment and fuss."

"I'll try," Scully promised. Deirdre had a way of making it all sound so simple.

"No, not try," Deirdre said, sounding immediately worried. "Say it again for me." She let go of Scully's hand. "Show me how you're going to do it."

Trying her best to stifle her discomfort, Scully looked Deirdre in the eye, reached for her hand and said, "I'm not feeling well."

"Good," Deirdre said, giving her hand a squeeze and withdrawing it again. "And again."

Scully met Deirdre's eyes, reached forward and took her hand. "I'm not feeling well."

"Good," Deirdre said. "And again. We're going to keep doing this until I see you can do it without looking like you're being subjected to unreasonable torture."

Smiling, Scully reached forward, took hold of Deirdre's arm and said, "I'm not feeling well."

"_Excellent_. You have a stunning smile when you let it loose. Do you think you can stand up now?"

Scully let Deirdre help her to her feet, Scully still holding the ice pack under her top.

"Now," Deirdre said, "I'm going to ask your Mom and Charlie to come in, and I want to see you can say the same thing to them."

Scully nodded, again fighting off her discomfort and telling herself this was essential step.

"Good," Deirdre said, rubbing her shoulder. "I'll be right back."

Scully waited only a moment before Deirdre came back in with her Mom and Charlie. Both of them were looking scared upon entrance to the kitchen, but then caught sight of her, and their expressions went to those of relief. But before either could say anything or approach her, Deirdre ushered them to stand on the opposite side of the kitchen, as far away from Scully as possible. Deirdre then crossed to Scully and stood beside her, slipping her arm around her shoulders.

"Come on, I know this is hard," she said, catching sight of Scully's face. "But it'll all be over in a second." Then, looking up to Charlie and Mrs Scully again, she said, "We've been discussing prevention strategies; ways of asking for help when she needs it. This is a signal that something isn't quite right, and that she needs a little TLC from you until things ease."

Charlie nodded along, looking interested and merely relieved that a strategy of some kind was about to fall into place. Scully saw her Mom, too, looked co-operative, ready to follow Deirdre's every instruction.

"Off you go," Deirdre said, rubbing her shoulder.

Feeling more nervous than when she opened her offer into medical school, Scully took a deep breath, and forced herself to start walking. She saw Charlie' s eyes narrow as she crossed the floor, puzzled and concerned by her nervousness.

She stopped in front of him. She opened her mouth, but with his eyes staring at her, so full of concern, the words were stuck in her throat, and she realised that she had never in her life casually reached for Charlie's hand.

"Okay, stop there," Deirdre said, softening and moving to stand behind her, hands on Scully's shoulders. "Take a deep breath and just relax."

Scully did. It flew through her mind that Monica and John both had no trouble asking for help - Monica headed for Anne's arms many times in a day without a trace of awkwardness. The fact that she herself found it so hard only made her feel like even more of a fool.

"If it helps," Deirdre said, "you're already doing light years better than John did. I tried this on him after we lost Luke and it was about six or seven months before he got the hang of it. It conflicted too much with his macho image."

Scully was surprised, but a second later realised she should have known. The familiar hugs between the Doggett family had been evident from the start, and of course this would have come up after Luke and the divorce. And Deirdre was right that the knowledge helped. Knowing John, too, had initially struggled increased her own self-confidence and she looked up into Charlie's eyes with renewed determination.

"Right," Deirdre said, holding her shoulders. "Remember the three essentials. _Eye _contact, _physical _contact, and the four words."

Finding it suddenly simple, Scully raised her eyes to Charlie's, reached for his hand, which he warmly held in return, and then said, "I'm not feeling well."

Charlie nodded. "I'm not surprised."

But the next moment he tugged on her hand, pulling her into his arms and he hugged her warmly. All of Scully's fears immediately fell away. It was, after all, ridiculously easy. He had not laughed, he had not joked, he had only hugged her with a look of relief.

After a moment they let each other go.

"Now do you think you can do that?" Deirdre asked.

"Yes," Scully replied.

"I think it would help things a lot," Charlie said seriously. "Just letting us know when you need help, so we're not constantly guessing."

"And do it _straight away_, Dana," Mrs Scully emphasised. "Don't hesitate and leave it too late."

Scully nodded.

"One more time," Deirdre said. "To your Mom."

Knowing how her mother would react, Scully found it easy. She stepped forward, reached for mother's arm, caught her eyes and said, "I'm not feeling well", and her mother was hugging her before the end of the sentence had even left her lips. Scully smiled against her mother's shoulder.

When they separated, her mother kept her hands on Scully's shoulders.

"I hope this means an end to these panic attacks."

"I'm going to try my best," Scully said honestly.

"Good," her mother said, and looking thrilled, she kissed her on the cheek.

"We're going to be watching to see that you follow through," Deirdre warned. "We can't take your healing much further until you feel perfectly comfortable doing this. And I'm going to run the same strategy by John, Monica and Mulder as well, double check they can do it too."

"Does everyone else know?" Mrs Scully asked.

"I'm going to tell them now," Deirdre said, rubbing Scully's shoulder again. "Give me a minute with them before you come out."

"She knows her stuff," Charlie said, after Deirdre had left.

"We're lucky to have her here," Scully agreed.

"How's the bruise?" Mrs Scully asked.

"Hurting," Scully said honestly. "It makes moving a little painful. But it'll heal."

"For the record," Charlie said. "I'm proud of what you did. Even if it didn't work out in this particular instance."

Scully smiled. "I'll get my strength back."

"You will," he agreed. "We can work on that once it heals."

"Dana."

Scully turned around to see everyone entering the kitchen, Monica leading the group, smiling widely. She did not need to say anything, she only put her arm around Scully and hugged her, looking overwhelmingly relieved that everything was going to be okay. After Monica's hug came John's, giving her an encouraging, "You'll be fine", and then Mulder, who stood in front of her with tears of worry still in his eyes, and Scully felt a little apprehensive.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

Scully looked into his eyes, and saw there a wondering look, and knew that this was a test of her newfound honesty.

"I'm honestly not sure," she replied. Part of her felt happy after the success of overcoming this recent hurdle, and part of her still felt a lingering something from whatever had happened in the kitchen before Deirdre's entrance.

But Mulder nodded, and a smile split over his lips. "That's a good sign."

And he moved forward and took her tenderly in his arms, before lowering his lips to hers, and sealing their forgiveness over everything that happened during the day. Scully closed her eyes, and her love for Mulder swelled so that she had no hesitation in opening her mouth, deepening the kiss even though everyone was standing around them watching. This was the man she gone through hell with over ten years on the X-Files, this was the man who had suffered the hell of the Canadian Rockies with her, who stood by her still now, loving her despite her fears and faults, even though she could not have children, not yet even make love - and none of it mattered. He simply loved _her_, just as much as she loved him. And every problem the trauma threw their way would be overcome.

* * *

_Not the most exciting chapter in the story, but a deeply essential one. I hadn't touched on anything yet in regard to how Deirdre can help them, and I think this covered it nicely. Monica is naturally affectionate and open-hearted, she has no trouble seeking help. John's past means he has no trouble, either. Mulder is guided by his knowledge as a psychologist, and it's for this reason he has remained so strong. Scully however, has always been emotionally guarded, and this means she struggles when it comes to seeking help! I'm getting another craving for some light-heartedness, though. Might see what I can do next chapter, balance it out. Anyway, waht did you think? Did you like the chapter? Feedback means so much, and keeps me writing another chapter every week!_


	33. Chapter 33

_**WARNING**: Sexual situations._

_This is what we might call a relaxed chapter. It's also the beginning of my time jumping (or time leaping) which I'll be doing from here on out._

* * *

**_Chapter 63 - Going Forward_**

In the morning, John was the last to come downstairs, and by the time he arrived in the kitchen, it was already after nine. It was a dark winter's day, with steady rain falling outside, dripping into puddles on the paving. But the effect was relaxing, and it was pleasant to think that they had a whole day ahead of them with nothing planned. It was simply a day of relaxation, and to John at least, it was well overdue.

It seemed everyone else had been up for a while. Mrs Scully was dressed, sitting on the couch with Princess curled up in her lap, purring as Mrs Scully stroked her soft fur. Mulder was next to her, also dressed, with an empty cereal bowl on the coffee table in front of him, and now halfway through an apple. Scully was in the kitchen, in flannel pyjamas, thick white socks, and a grey dressing gown, a cup of coffee in her hands and looking a hell of a lot more relaxed than she had the day before. Christi and Charlie, as John would have predicted, were standing together, holding each other and looking like they weren't going to let go for the next hundred years. And Monica was seated at the dining table, fully dressed, reading glasses on, and studying the screen of Jack's laptop in front of her.

"Mornin'," he said, moving over to her first and putting his hands softly on her shoulders.

"Hey," she said, peeling her eyes away from the screen and throwing him a big smile. John leant down to give her a kiss.

"You got up early this morning," he observed. Usually they rose together, enjoying a little good morning playtime before coming downstairs. But this morning he had woken alone, and he guessed that she had wanted to allow him to sleep in. But he also noticed several other things; first that on the computer screen was a website of financial news, focusing mainly on the stock market, secondly that she had another window open to an Excel spreadsheet, and thirdly that she was no longer wearing her sling. Her wrist was still bandaged, but she was using it now.

"I had some work to do," she replied, nodding to the screen. "We need to break up the money. We can't let it sit there."

"I agree," he said. It made him nervous thinking that they had so many millions resting in the one bank account. If anything happened, they would lose the lot.

"You want to buy stock," Scully observed, sitting down at the table with her coffee. Mulder, too, came over to join them.

"That's part of it," Monica said. "I'm going to draft an investment plan, a suggestion of what I think we should do."

"Go for it," Mulder said. "You're the one with all the expertise."

Monica did not reply, but John saw her expression harden a little as she thought of her father - the one who had been responsible for teaching her how to handle such gigantic sums of money. John massaged her shoulders to relax her a little.

"Monica?"

They all looked up as Jack paused on his way past.

"You're _our _daughter," he said firmly. "No one else's."

And Monica smiled, the pain immediately evaporating.

"That's better," Anne said, just as the doorbell rang and she went down the hallway to answer it.

It was Deirdre, who came back with Anne, carrying several large bags between them.

"Good morning!" she said happily. She breezed around, giving each of them a kiss on the cheek, saving Scully for last and pausing, studying her eyes as she dropped her coat from her shoulders. "You're looking very well."

"I feel much better," Scully said calmly, holding her mug in her hands. Mulder rubbed her shoulder, looking pleased.

"What have you got in here?" Jack asked, looking curiously at the large bags.

"They're for Dana," Deirdre said, and with a smile she began to withdraw large brick-like academic textbooks, stacking them up in a tower on the dining table. "_The American Medical Association's Guide to Psychiatry_ - a general overview, that one, not specific to trauma, _Post Traumatic Stress Disorder: New Perspectives_ - it's a bit heavy, but written by one of the best in the field, _Post Traumatic Stress: 10 Case Studies_ - extremely helpful, excellent practical guide, _Treating Post Traumatic Stress: Strategies for Practitioners_ ..."

And so it went on. Deirdre piled up around ten books on the coffee table, then followed it with a display folder of photocopies of articles taken from medical journals, and then topped it all off with a list of websites she had found helpful.

"Wow ..." Scully breathed, looking stunned for a second. "Thank you."

"Where'd you find them all?" Monica asked curiously, momentarily distracted from the computer.

"I share an office in the city with a few others. We have our own mini library. But most of these are mine. You're free to write on them in lead pencil if you like. All except for this one." She pointed to a copy of _Crash: Living With Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - A Survivor's Guide_. I borrowed that one from the university. But I'd leave that one for last, if I were you. Start with the theory. Some the actual case studies can be harrowing reads."

"Vietnam veterans?" Mulder asked.

"One or two," Deirdre said. "There's also a young woman's account of trying to cope following a sexual assault. A grandfather who survived an accidental electrocution on his farm. A teenager who was trapped down a storm drain for three days. A lot of sad accidents."

Scully was silent, already heavily absorbed in reading the back of one of the smaller books.

"Are you sure you should be reading these?" Mrs Scully asked, looking worried.

"I'm sure," Scully said, but absorbed in the contents of a second book, she said no more.

"The theory will help," Deirdre explained softly. "It's a way of taking control."

Charlie took one of the heavier books, flicking open the cover and scanning the contents. "Is it in English?"

Scully gave him an impatient look.

Monica reached out and tipped the book forward so she could see the page.

"It's just a Latin quotation," she said, looking to a paragraph in italics below the contents listing. "It says, 'Let us understand that illness to the mind is the gravest affliction of all, as the mind rules a body unable to exist in an independent state. Hence let treatment of the mind be a new focus of our study, to positively balance the body and the soul, and bring harmony to our world'."

"You know Latin?" Christi asked, looking impressed.

"And French," Monica added, before returning her attention to the laptop.

"Anyway," Deirdre said. "Read at your leisure."

"Thank you," Scully said, giving Deirdre a grateful look.

"Not a problem," Deirdre replied.

Charlie went to turn away, intending to head for the couch with Christi, but Scully glanced up again.

"I'd like you to do something for me."

"What is it?" Christi asked, anxious to help before Charlie had even opened his mouth.

"Take the morning off," Scully replied.

Charlie stared blankly.

"You need a break," Scully elaborated. "Take some time together."

"Dana," Charlie said. "We'll have plenty of time. Your health is all that matters."

"And I'm fine," Scully replied, looking as though nothing could possibly relax her more than having a library of heavy reading dropped in front of her. "Really, I am."

"She's right," Mulder said. "Go. We'll be all right."

"Go buy her a ring," John added pointedly, nodding to Christi's still bare finger.

Charlie glanced at his fiancé's hand, and John saw this had been secretly bothering him.

"If you're sure," Charlie said awkwardly.

"We're sure," Deirdre said firmly. "Off you go. We don't want you back here till lunchtime, at the very least."

Five minutes later, after a series of hugs and kisses and two more declarations from Scully that she would be _absolutely _fine - said as she was already halfway through chapter one of the first book and not even bothering to look up - and the two were gone. A moment later Mrs Scully, Deirdre, Jack and Anne all headed for the couch and turned on the television, aware that the four had been discussing their finances and leaving them alone to do it in private. Mulder took a seat next to Scully, flicking through a book of case studies, and John made his way back to Monica, who stood up to take his hand in her soft one, and directing him to sit down first, settling herself in his lap. John slipped his arms around her skinny waist, enjoying the feel of having her all so close. This brought a smile to her lips as she returned her attention to the spreadsheet.

She was in the middle of adding a list of names in the first column, including everyone they had nominated to have a share in the money. She was meticulously accurate, and John watched as she typed _Anne Doggett_, _Jack Doggett_, _Christina Doggett_, _Margaret Scully_, _Charles Scully_, _William Scully_, _Tara Scully_, _Matthew Scully, _and then she paused.

"Dana?"

"Mmm?" Scully kept reading, already in intense concentration.

"Lizzie," Monica said. "Is it Lizzie or Elizabeth?"

"Elizabeth," Scully replied, putting the book down. "I need some paper."

"There's an empty notebook in the third drawer of the kitchen," Anne said over her shoulder, as Princess sprung lightly into her lap. Scully went to fetch it, and John watched as Monica typed in the name. His eyes watched the fingers of her left hand. Her wrist was bandaged, but the way she now freely moved it without pain was an excellent sign. Her wrist was now able to support its own weight, and that of her hand, seemingly as well as it had always done. Her fingers, however, were not yet faring as well. He studied them as she continued to type, as she now filled in _Baby X Scully_, _Jenny McAllister_, _Carol Newman_ ... she appeared to have full use of her thumb, index finger, and middle finger. Her ring finger and little finger, however, were apparently still weak, and did none of the work on the keyboard, instead almost dangling from her palm. He felt pained watching it.

"Can you use your end fingers?" Scully asked, putting a notebook and pen down on the table and looking with concern at Monica's typing.

"Not yet."

She said the words as evenly as she could, yet John caught the worry underneath.

"Let me test your grip," Scully said, holding out two fingers for her, asking her to complete the same regular routine in which she curled her fingers one by one around Scully's, testing her grip strength and sensation.

Monica did, but her face was sad as her ring finger and little finger were clumsy in gripping Scully's. She sighed. John gave her a squeeze around her waist.

"They're still numb," Monica said.

"Well it's still only been three days," Scully said, her professional air quite convincing. "I wouldn't yet be concerned. In fact, your wrist has been healing remarkably well. I can see you've gained back your movement, and a fair amount of your strength."

"I don't feel as much pain," Monica agreed, and her spirits appeared brightened.

"The fingers will follow suit," John assured her. "Just give 'em time."

He ran his hand over her lower back, just above her pants, and she relaxed. Scully sat back down, but John couldn't shake the feeling that she was concealing bad news. Would Monica's fingers heal? The thought that they might not was quite possible. Dr Cheung had warned them there might be some permanent damage, however minor. He tried to stay positive. At least she could move her wrist, and the essential digits on her hand - the thumb, index finger and middle finger. She could move the others, too, but they were weak and clumsy. No, overall, considering what Monica had done to herself, she had healed well, and he had to remind himself that they were extremely lucky to have her back at all. It had been so close, and a little numbness in her little finger was not a high price to pay at all. It could have been so much worse if she had lost use of her entire hand. As it was she could still function without needing their help. She could hold a knife and fork, she could do her hair and makeup, she could work the buttons on her clothes and do up her bra. _Numbness was not a high price _...

"I'm going to sit down a while," Mulder said suddenly. He closed the book, put it back on Scully's stack, and got to his feet. Scully watched his eyes, and John, too, saw shakiness in them. He watched as Scully tugged on his sleeve, bringing him down for a reassuring kiss, before he walked over to the couch to indulge in comfort from their families. They watched as Mrs Scully invited him to sit down with her, smiling as she took his hand and he sank into her maternal comfort.

Scully relaxed, and after watching another moment, and receiving a reassuring wink from Deirdre, she returned her attention to the book, pen hanging in her right hand, ready to take notes. John suddenly saw how Scully had had such phenomenal success in her academic years. She was a model of concentration, and as she studied the books it was as though no one else was even in the room. She seemed to block out Monica's typing, John's staring, and the noise from the television, which John saw Mulder had tuned them all in to the movie _Empire of the Ants _- a movie in which ants fed on nuclear waste, grew to the size of houses and took over the whole town. And yet for this, as Monica smiled over the top of the laptop, as John smiled at the look of enormous suffering on his mother's face, Scully did not even raise her eyes, focusing entirely on a list of five fundamental principles of trauma psychology.

Realising he was staring stupidly, John tore his eyes away from Scully and instead planted them on the figure perched in his lap. Monica was surfing websites now, making a list of various stock she thought were possibilities. John, already bored, ran his hand down her back. His fingers trailed over her bra catch like a speed bump, and he had to use all his self-discipline to not flick it open, see what she'd do, watch that sexy instant when her breasts were let loose, and she invited him to play with her ...

His fingers reached the top of her pants, and there he paused. The tag of her sexy black underwear was hanging out. With one finger, he poked it back in, his finger sliding down inside her underwear, right in the valley between her cheeks.

Monica looked over her shoulder, a smile playing on her lips.

"Your tag's hangin' out," he explained, matching her amused smile with a cheeky one of his own.

Still smiling, she returned her attention to the computer. But then she shifted in his lap, slowly, teasingly, and very deliberately, somehow emphasising the perfect shape of her ass perched only a few inches from his own groin. Glancing back up to her face, he saw she was still wearing the same amused smile, although she was focusing on scanning through a long list of stock prices.

Well two could play at that game.

Checking that Scully was still absorbed in the textbook, and the others watching the ants grow to super sizes on the television, John lowered one hand to the perfect ass, squeezing it, massaging the soft curve.

Monica ignored him. Slight smile still on her lips, she kept her focus on the list of stock prices, fingers flying over the keyboard as she entered possibilities into the spreadsheet.

Knowing that she was enjoying herself, John did not give in. As Scully reached the end of the chapter and flicked back a few pages, beginning to scribble a summary in the notebook, John slid his fingers further around Monica's waist, and under the cover of the table, slid one finger against the fabric between her legs.

For a split second, Monica stopped typing. But she recovered her composure almost immediately, flicked her hair over her shoulder, and entered in another website address, this one for simple cash investment accounts. At the same time, she opened her legs a little, giving him access.

At that point John wondered whether he should probably just stop right there. But a larger part of him was curious to see just how playful Monica was, how far she would invite him to go before backing off, giving in and letting him win the game. After balancing the two ideas for a moment, he continued to move his finger again, trailing it lightly up and down, touching her in her most sensitive places, so lightly, but just the way she liked it.

As he continued to stroke her through her pants, Monica flicked back to the spreadsheet, a definite smile on her lips now.

"What's that company do?" he asked casually, looking to an unknown on the end of the list.

"Which one?" she asked, with equal impassiveness.

"The one down the bottom," he said, smiling as he spoke the last word, giving her a teasing little flick right on target.

Monica's grin widened, but she reigned it in again quickly.

"Mining," she replied.

_Oh, hell._

Monica was not a quitter. To prove it, she leaned forward slightly, readjusting her position on his lap so her backside was provocatively arched against his.

_Jesus fucking Christ._

Monica had a glowing smile on her face as she cruised to another website. Throwing caution into the wind, John let his fingers drift up to the button of her pants. He flicked it open with practiced efficiency, and then slowly brought down her zip, hoping to hell no one would hear him doing it. But success - it was down, and no one, even Scully, looked up. As Monica grinned wide, John slipped his fingers inside her underwear, beginning a mining expedition of his own.

Monica held her breath as his fingers made contact. She was soaked.

All of a sudden Scully slid her notebook across the table at him. They both lowered their eyes to catch the words, "_Take it upstairs_."

His heart stopped as he saw Scully was smiling to herself as she determinedly read on. _God, she knew _...

He withdrew his fingers, zipping Monica up again.

"We should throw some laundry in sometime," Monica said casually. "We have a mountain of it upstairs."

"I'll get it," John said, with equal casualness, gripping her hips to shift her off his lap. "You shouldn't be carrying anything."

"I can manage," Monica said, with convincing offense.

John gave a defeated shrug. They both got up, Monica casually sliding Scully's notebook back to her. John saw now that Scully was no longer smiling - she was instead struggling not to laugh, biting her lip as she began chapter two.

Scully at last raised her eyes, and met them with the full wide smile, her blue eyes dancing as she struggled to keep their secret.

"Mulder and I have a large bag of laundry, too," she said, with a casualness in sharp contrast to her almost giggling expression. "I don't suppose you'd mind throwing that in?"

"Not a problem," John said, alternating between wanting to thank her and wanting to kill her.

"Is it very dirty?" Monica asked innocently. "It's just that we have quite a pile, it might be better to leave yours for the next load."

But Scully sealed their coffin.

"Not that dirty. It's nowhere near as urgent as yours."

XXX

Time drifted past, five o'clock arriving with nothing much having happened. It was still raining steadily, as it had been all day long, Monica was still drawing up investment plans, as she had been since returning from her upstairs liaison with John, and Scully studied, trying to concentrate and not be distracted by the uncanny rubbish that Mulder and John found on TV. From time to time she could not help glancing at their families sitting in on the torture, but to their credit they tried their best to disguise their feelings and the fact that they sat through eight straight hours of it was a measure of their love. Christi and Charlie had also returned mid-afternoon, Christi beaming as they showed off one of the most stunning engagement rings Scully had ever seen. After everyone spent a long time admiring it, they had eventually settled down in an armchair, though were more engrossed in each other than what was on the TV screen.

It was around halfway through _Attack of the Killer Tomatoes _- which had resulted in an enthusiastic debate on the worst movies ever made - that the doorbell rang.

Everyone looked at each other, wondering who it could be.

"It's probably Carol," Deirdre ventured.

Anne went to answer it.

A minute later she returned with an attractive black woman, around Christi's age, who was carrying several large bags of what looked like children's art projects. Scully did not need an introduction to know that this must be Georgia - Christi's best friend who taught with her at the local school.

"Hey!" Georgia chimed, sailing into the room and setting her bags down by the table.

"Hey!" Christi responded, beaming and leaping up from Charlie's lap.

The two hugged fiercely. When Georgia pulled away, she took hold of Christi's hand, looking at the ring.

"Now before you say anything else," Georgia said playfully, "I have to know how this happened. You left us to take care of your _single _brother and a week later you return with him engaged, two _fabulous _new sisters, and a new sexy naval hubby for yourself. For future reference, I demand to know how you did that."

Christi laughed. "Just got lucky, I guess."

"I'll say you did," Georgia agreed, as she turned to greet Charlie.

The introductions went on for several minutes. Scully put down her studying to take part, and listened as Georgia praised Christi's ring and the engagement, saying she could tell instantly it was going to work, they looked so good together. Christi then invited her to be her third bride's maid, and Georgia enthusiastically accepted, though wanted to know why the hell she waiting for a month like October, which then caused Christi to explain how Charlie had to finish his stint with the navy before he could return and get married. Georgia then moved to the subject of John and Monica's engagement, and gave that topic equal enthusiasm. Scully, however, was merely thrilled that Georgia was so pleasant to be around. She was tactful, and none of the sentences they dreaded came out of her mouth. There was no statement of how thin they were, no reference to the mountain at all, no reference to funerals or people lost, she did not even stare at Monica's bandage. She was a remarkably positive person, and dwelled on none of the sore spots.

"Would you like a coffee?" Anne asked.

"Oh, yes please," Georgia said. "I've come straight from the staff meeting, and it was freezing in there. I couldn't wait to get out."

"How is everything?" Christi asked.

"Going fine, don't worry. In fact, that's why I'm here." She smiled at the four survivors. "I've brought some gifts for you."

Georgia reached down for her bags, and little by little pulled out a series of huge colourful cardboard cards, letters and artwork, enough to cover the entire table several times over.

"Oh my God," Monica said, staring at the hours of effort from what was plainly hundreds of children. "These are all for us?"

"All for you," Georgia confirmed with a smile. "A whole school effort. There's something from every class, a lot of parents and families too. Everyone's been so moved by what you're going through. We feel like we've been living it through Christi. It's powerful enough even when you don't know any of the people. When you see it happening to one of your own ... we had to do something. I suppose you could say we did a bit of a lesson on it." Georgia pointed to a stack of neatly written letters. "Julie did letter writing with her class. The younger grades have done some simple cards. We did some art and craft ..."

"It's amazing," Mulder said, reaching for a small red card. He opened it for them all to see, and Scully saw a drawing of the four of them, all holding hands, with large writing from a young child on top saying, _"We love you. You are heroes."_

"My God ..." Monica said, smiling and nearly weeping on the spot.

They all reached for cards and letters, Georgia beaming as she watched.

Scully found one addressed specifically to herself, and read it aloud. "'Dear Dana, We want you to know that you are very brave. We are sorry that you lost your friends and hope you are not feeling too sad. We hope you will feel happy again soon. From Jessie and Mackaylah. PS, You have beautiful hair.'"

"They're two very sweet girls," Christi said, as Scully felt her eyes moisten. "Delightful to be around."

John started reading a letter of his own. "We think you were very courageous in hiking out of the Rockies mountain range. It must have been very cold in all the snow. We are proud that you made it out. You are an inspiration to us."

"Who's it from?" Georgia asked curiously.

"Says Brenton and Lachlan."

"Not at all bad for those two," Georgia said, looking impressed by the boys' heartfelt writing.

"Dear Fox Mulder," Monica read, grinning. "My mom thinks you're hot. She says that you are foxy and welcome to use her den any time."

Christi and Georgia both burst out laughing. Scully saw Mulder looked half flattered, half alarmed, and immediately stepped closer, touching him on the back and reminding him not to get carried away. He responded by putting his arm possessively around her waist, though still looked too shell-shocked to find words.

"Dear Dana and Monica," John read. "My name is Kelly and I'm in the fifth grade. I want you to know that you are an inspiration in everything you've done. It's incredible that you hiked all the way out of the mountains and came out alive. I know you feel sad over your friends who did not make it, but I hope you start to feel better soon. When I grow up I want to be smart like you. I'm trying my best at school so I can get into medicine like Dana did. You are an inspiration to girls everywhere, in showing that a girl can be smart and kind and not need men to do everything for them. Keep it up and get well soon. Love, Kelly."

"She's fifth grade?" Scully asked, not believing her ears.

"She's extremely smart," Christi said. "It's a shame, really."

"Why is it a shame?" Monica asked.

"Her family situation isn't the best," Georgia answered. "It's a single parent family. Her mom's an alcoholic. She's been in some hard situations at times. Her Mom used to shut her in the car when she went gambling. Police rescued her a couple of times. We try our best to support her - she has my out of hours number - but we're as good as powerless, really."

"What can we do?" Monica asked.

She looked as sad as Scully felt herself. It was hard to hear a letter so littered with potential, from such a kind young heart, only to learn that her potential was being crushed by harsh reality.

"Write back," Charlie suggested. "A letter from someone as famous as you, she'd remember it for the rest of her life."

Scully wondered why she hadn't thought of it herself.

"Or you could drop into the school if you feel well enough," Georgia suggested. "Getting to meet you in person would be an incredible experience for _all _the kids."

Scully looked around at the other three. Both Mulder and John looked as affected as Scully and Monica. And Scully's eyes fell to the hundreds of other letters and cards on the table, each one put together with feeling, a huge effort from the entire school community.

"We can't just leave them," John said quietly.

"It's your choice," Christi said honestly. "No one's pressuring you to do anything. Your health comes first."

"We'd need Jana's permission," Mulder said. "We still represent the Bureau. Any public appearance is going to require her approval."

"She'd say yes," Scully said.

"But Christi is right," Deirdre said. "Your health comes first. It's going to be very hard being in public again. You haven't had to face it yet. I think it might be better left for another week or two, when you're feeling a little better."

"We feel fine now," Monica said. She looked ready to rush off right away.

Scully felt Mulder and John's eyes upon her.

"I _am _fine," Scully said.

"Would you tell us if you weren't?" Charlie asked.

"Yes," Scully replied. "I told you yesterday I would."

Mulder nodded. Scully felt his hand start to roam on her lower back.

"When can we come in?" he asked.

"Whenever you like," Georgia answered.

"Tomorrow?" Monica asked.

"Monica," Anne said, unable to keep quiet any longer, "this is all a little sudden. It might be better if you give it some time."

"We'll be okay," Monica countered. "If worst comes to worst, we'll turn away again."

"You wouldn't be completely unprotected," Christi said. "We can make sure the kids don't ask any painful questions. We'll have a talk with them all first."

Scully's eyes fell again to the hundreds of colourful cards and letters. It was incredible to think that they had had such an effect on the next generation.

"We have to face the public sometime," Scully said logically. "And as long as we're careful, I see no cause to wait."

"Fox?" Mrs Scully enquired.

"I think that a lot of bad things have happened," Mulder said. "And that this is a chance to do some good."

John looked around at his family. "It's just a few minutes with a bunch of kids. Not necessarily a disaster."

"I can't help being worried," Anne said, looking nervous.

"It's our responsibility," Mulder said.

Jack sighed. There was a long pause.

"All right," Deirdre said at last, taking a deep breath. "But I have a few conditions. I want you to get Jana's permission. Christi, I want you to be there when they talk to the kids first, make sure there's as little pain as possible. And I want Doctor Cheung to come with us."

Doctor Cheung had promised to fly down twice weekly, and was already due to drop in the following morning. Scully had already made a mental note to ask him about Monica's fingers, see if there were any strengthening exercises they could give her.

"Agreed," Scully said.

Deirdre looked at the others.

"Deal," Mulder said.

"Done," John added.

Deirdre looked to Monica.

"Yes," Monica said, suddenly laughing. "And quit looking like you're going to our funeral."

Their relatives said nothing.

XXX

At ten o'clock the next morning, Scully followed Christi from where they had been waiting quietly in the staff room to the school hall, where the students were gathered to meet them. Christi, Dr Cheung, and the teachers had given the children a talk about appropriate and inappropriate questions, and now they were crossing the last concrete path to the huge school hall.

Scully at last felt her nervousness hit as she heard the murmur of hundreds of children talking on the other side of the wall.

She slipped her hand into Mulder's, and he gave it a squeeze, though she could feel he was just as nervous. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw John, too, was now having second thoughts about their hasty decision, but beside him, Monica was as happy and as confident as ever.

"Don't worry," she said, her arm around John's waist.

"Back out anytime, Dana," Deirdre said. Scully knew she was still worried that Scully was yet to use her asking for help strategy. But the truth was that Scully had not yet felt the need. She had spent the entirety of the previous day studying up on Post Traumatic Stress, and the further she read, the more the knowledge empowered her, and gave her strength.

They paused outside the double doors to the school hall. The murmur of voices was louder than ever.

Scully's heart was hammering, and it was now that she at last attempted to use Deirdre's strategy. She crossed to 

Charlie, took his wrist and said quietly, "Give me a hug before we go in."

He did, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close for several seconds, rubbing his hand up and down her back.

"Don't worry," Charlie said softly. "The teachers have banned all the hard questions. And they're kids. Most of them won't be the least bit curious about the painful stuff. They'll probably ask you what it's like to be an FBI agent."

Scully pulled away, his logical words giving her strength. She saw both Deirdre and her mother were smiling, relieved she had finally proved she was comfortable in asking for help. She finished off the comfort with a kiss from Mulder, then put her hand back into his.

She saw John was now sharing a last minute hug with Christi.

"It's okay," she said, kissing him on the cheek. "Nothing's going to happen."

When he was done, he stepped back and put his arm around Monica's shoulders again. She put her damaged one around his waist.

"Are you ready?" Christi asked, gripping the door handle.

"Ready," Monica replied, still looking completely at ease.

Christi opened the door. At first, stepping into the hall and onto the wooden floor, Scully was overwhelmed by how many hundreds of eyes were watching her. There were kids _everywhere, _of all ages and nationalities. The majority were sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring up at her in stunned awe, but some of the older grades at the back were standing against the wall. As they took a few steps in, many of the kids got up on their knees, wanting to get a better look, and one of the teachers along the walls immediately told them all to sit down again. But for the most part they held their awed silence, which was reinforced by the adults, including Georgia and Dr Cheung, standing facing the hordes.

Christi waved them over to a wooden bench, and the four sat down side by side, facing the crowds. Monica was smiling. She loved kids and now she had hundreds of them in love with her she was in heaven. Mulder, too, looked strangely relaxed. For Scully, however, captivated by the hundreds of eyes still watching in awe of her, each child whose eyes she met giving her a warm smile, the next few minutes passed in a blur. Christi was talking, though Scully heard only bits and pieces, something about being privileged to have them here, special permission straight from the Director of the FBI, _just _for their school, and how they were all going to show her how well they were behaved so they left with a excellent report on the school. And then, before Scully could even catch up, Monica was talking, saying how they were thrilled to be here, how they had received the hundreds of wonderful cards and letters and had been so moved by them that they had to come in straightaway. And then Georgia said they had prepared some questions for them, if they were willing, and Monica enthusiastically said they were ...

And before they knew it, it had started. Hands shot in the air in all directions, and Christi pointed to a child and said their name.

"Bonnie," Christi said, pointing to a blonde girl of eight or nine.

"Was it cold?" she asked tentatively.

Scully, who had expected something infinitely more trying, felt herself immediately relax, as Monica, sitting beside her, fell in love on the spot.

"_Very_," Monica said. "We could barely feel our fingers, our noses, I think we were wearing about six layers of clothing. And we had to snuggle up with each other, share our warmth, to try to stay warm."

Bonnie glowed at having Monica answer her question.

"Jason," Christi said, pointing to a black boy of about ten.

"What are you going to spend your money on?" he asked.

"We haven't decided yet," Mulder said. "I think we'll be investing a lot of it, looking after our families, giving donations to charities and good causes."

"We haven't had time to think about it," Monica said. "It's been a bit of a whirlwind."

"What would you buy?" Scully asked, thinking she should probably wake up and contribute.

"A ferrari," he answered enthusiastically. "Then I could drive really fast and everyone would love me."

"I'm sure you don't need a ferrari to be loved," Monica said.

"He just wants the girls!" a boy beside him jeered with a grin.

Jason grinned back.

"All right, Tammy?" Christi said, pointing to a girl standing along the back wall.

"Agent Scully, do you dye your hair?"

Scully smiled before she could hold it back, as did most of the teachers.

"No, I'm a natural redhead." She nodded across to Charlie. "I have my brother to prove it."

"Michael," Christi said, pointing to an Asian boy.

"Did you cry?" he asked interestedly, looking specifically to John and Mulder.

"Rivers," John said, without a trace of embarrassment. "If we'd owned shares in Kleenex we'd be billionaires by now."

Scully saw a lot of the teachers looked pleased by his answer.

"Justin," Christi said, pointing to a tiny boy in the front row.

"How did you wee?"

Monica laughed, the question just too much. Scully tried to her best to hold back her own.

"Justin," a teacher from the sidelines said, "do you really think that's an appropriate question?"

Justin looked a little unsure.

"It's okay," John said, waving down her concern. He said to Justin, "The same way you do."

"But _how_?"

Monica was giggling to herself, a hand over her mouth.

"Like they did in the old days," John said. "We had a pot we used in the pilot's cabin. It was just like a regular toilet."

"What did you use for toilet paper?"

"I think we can stop there, Justin," Christi said, cutting him off.

Justin fell silent, smiling cheekily to himself.

"Does anyone have an _intelligent _question?" Georgia called, scanning the older grades.

"Sara," Georgia said, pointing to an older girl.

"Is it hard being a woman in the FBI?"

"It certainly can be," Scully said. "It is historically a male-dominated field. And many women who enrol in the FBI Academy unfortunately do find they have to fight for equality. It is true that only one in six FBI agents are female, and it's even fewer in the senior positions."

"But it's changing," Monica said, as she at last recovered from the previous question. "The Bureau is actively seeking women now, and I think nearly half of cadets accepted into the Academy are female. And you know just two days ago Jana Cassidy was promoted to be the FBI's first female director. So it is changing. I think it's just that it might have been a slow process, especially given the nature of the field we're in."

"Good question, Sara," Christi said approvingly. She looked back to the young kids, and pointed to a young girl in cute brown pigtails.

The girl smiled shyly. "Do you really love each other?"

Scully saw Monica's heart melt on the spot, and that the girl was added to Monica's adoption hit list.

"Yes, we do," Scully confirmed. "We love each other more than anything."

"We haven't spent a single moment apart," Mulder said. "And there isn't anything we wouldn't do for each other."

"Good question," Georgia said, and the girl looked happy. "Katie?"

A girl halfway down the hall sat up on her knees. "What's it like to be famous?"

They all looked at each other, silently debating their answer. So far, it had been a nightmare.

"It has its ups and downs," Monica said at last. "It is _very _hard being watched all the time, to have the media watching us every step we take. But then there's times like now, and I feel the most touched and privileged I've ever felt in my life. I feel extremely lucky to be here."

"We're blessed," John said sincerely.

And Scully had to admit that it was a perfect answer.

XXX

In the end, the day turned out to be as much fun as Monica had insisted it would be. The questions put to them in the school hall continued to be the easiest questions possible, and they got to the end with no agitation whatsoever. When it was finished, two sixth graders, a boy and a girl, jointly came up to present them each with flowers and to give a thank you speech on behalf of the school for coming to see them. The grades filed out one by one, lowest to highest, until only Christi's and Georgia's grades remained, awaiting instructions from their teachers who were still there. It was then that the group found themselves besieged by pleas to stay longer. John hesitated at first, saying they should probably be getting back, and Christi backed him up, saying it had probably been enough for one day, but then Monica was faced with a group of girls who dropped to their knees and put their hands together in gestures of eager begging - it was only business studies, and then dance class ... and Monica could not say no.

And that was how Scully found herself standing in Christi and Georgia's joint classrooms an hour and a half later, watching one of the most innovative lessons she had ever seen. 'Business Studies' turned out to be a creative way of simulating adult life. Each student was given a weekly wage for attending school - paid in colourful cardboard money - and from that wage they rented a table and chair, paid for health insurance (visits to the school nurse), and use of electricity and gas. There were even simulated bank accounts, where Christi and Georgia added so many paper dollars for every so much the students saved. At the end of the month, the money the students had was used to participate in an auction for various donated items, and several small things bought by the school. And in this specific class, business studies, students got together in groups and set up their own pretend businesses, running their business and circulating through other businesses in the double room, spending their money and earning money, and at the end they counted their profits or losses, Christi and Georgia took out tax, and they studied the results.

Mulder had taken to it like a duck to water, and had taken his five hundred cardboard dollars given to him by Georgia to go be a customer, and gone straight to the video games store - a table hosted by two boys, and surrounded by a crowd of others, where old computer and video games were sold and rented out for the week.

"How much for Dark Night III?" he asked, picking one up.

"You need to pay the membership fee first," one of the boys said.

"How much is that?"

"Twenty dollars."

Mulder threw down the twenty. "It used to be one of my favourite games. I liked the vampires on level 16."

"You've played it?" the boys asked in surprise.

"I _mastered _it," Mulder corrected, making himself comfortable in a small kid's chair. "I had a top score of two hundred and sixty two thousand."

"Serious?" the other boy asked, impressed.

Scully knew immediately that this was no lie, and what was more, that it had most likely been a skill that had been refined on those Friday and Saturday night trips to the Lone Gunmen's office.

Across in the corner, Monica was participating in an aerobics class put on by the group of popular girls who had begged her to stay earlier. A pop song by Madonna was blaring out from a portable stereo, and Monica laughed and smiled as she interacted with the girls, following the leader's moves.

"Mr Scully, would you like your nails painted?"

Charlie looked down at the thin girl, one of the owners of the beauty salon in the corner.

"Absolutely," he said enthusiastically. "I'd _love _to have my nails painted. And so would Dana," he added, taking her hand and dragging her with him.

A second later Scully found herself sitting in a small chair, her hands laid flat on the table.

"What colour?" the same girl asked Charlie. She had a long row of nail polish bottles in front of her, every colour of the rainbow.

"How about a bit of everything? Make each nail different."

The girl smiled and unscrewed the lid on a bottle of hot pink, starting to paint Charlie's thumb.

"What colour would you like?" another girl asked Scully.

"Whatever you like," Scully answered brightly.

"She means anything but pink," Charlie translated. "Dana _hates _pink."

The girl unscrewed a bottle of light blue.

"Are you really engaged to Miss Doggett?" the girl asked Charlie.

"Really and truly," Charlie answered happily, as the girl finished with his thumb and started to paint his next nail bright green.

"When did you propose?"

"Two days ago."

"Did you get down on one knee?" the girl asked.

"He was in the pool," Scully said with a smile. "They'd fallen in, came up for air, and he proposed."

"Weren't you wet?" they asked incredulously.

"Head to toe," Scully supplied.

"Did you kiss her?"

"I sure did," Charlie said.

"Really?"

Charlie stared. "Why is it hard to believe?"

"Because you haven't touched her all day!" the girl complained.

"Oh," Charlie said, and then he smiled. "Haven't I?"

Then, with an innocent look, and as one girl started to paint his third nail a ghastly yellow, he looked around the room, searching for Christi. He at last found her talking with John, and beckoned her over.

"What's up?" she asked, resting her hands lovingly on Charlie's shoulders. She immediately stifled a laugh. "Wow, lookin' good."

"I need you to help me prove something," Charlie said, as his next nail was christened purple.

"What's that?" Christi asked, still unable to keep a straight face.

Charlie grabbed the front of her shirt and pulled her down, passionately grabbing her lips with his. He held her there for several seconds, as the crowd of girls beamed - as the rest of the kids in the room beamed, and one next to Mulder wolf-whistled, as Anne, Deirdre and Mrs Scully sitting across the room smiled at each other.

Finally, he released her.

Christi was out of breath.

"What was that for?" she asked, panting.

"Proving I love you," Charlie replied.

Christi smiled, her eyes twinkling, but she did not dare say more in front of the kids.

"I love you too," she said sweetly, and then pulled away. "Dana?"

Scully looked up from watching her nails being finished off.

Christi beckoned her to follow, and Scully excused herself and followed Christi out into the deserted corridor, where she closed the door behind them.

"What's the problem?" Scully asked.

"I just want to know if you're all right," Christi said quietly, looking concerned. "You're awfully quiet."

Scully nodded, knowing she probably had been. "I just have some things on my mind."

"We thought that might be the case," Christi said, squeezing her shoulder. "Look, why don't you take a break for a little while? Go step outside, or sit in the staff room?"

"I'm okay," Scully said. "It's not that I'm upset. I've just been thinking, figuring things out in my mind. Our future."

Christi nodded. "Do you want to talk?"

Scully considered the idea, and her heart spoke for her.

"Yes," she said quietly.

"Okay," Christi said, giving her shoulder another squeeze. "Just give me a second, I'll tell the others where we're going."

Scully waited in the corridor, and a few seconds later Christi came back out, and slipped her arm gently around Scully's shoulders, walking her up the corridor, all the way to the empty staff room, where there were two long rows of blue couches. Christi grabbed a newspaper and magazine that had been left there, throwing them aside and sitting Scully down in the quiet room. She kept her arm around her shoulders.

"You know we're sisters now," Christi said warmly. "You can tell me anything."

Scully took a slow breath, wondering where she should begin.

"I can see things now," Scully began at last. "Things that weren't as apparent a few days ago. Your relationship with Charlie, his intention to move here from San Diego when his term's up, the likelihood that you'll start a family together here in Atlanta."

Christi nodded.

"And John's a part of that, too," Scully went on. "Between the feelings we all hold about Washington, the strength of your family, and his upcoming marriage to Monica, I can't see that he'll ever leave here, either. Monica belongs here. She's a part of your family, she needs your Mom, and I think they'll both stick around."

"Would that bother you?" Christi asked.

"No," Scully said. "It's just the way I see things happening. And it's only right."

"Dana," Christi said gently. "I'm not really following as to what the problem is."

"They'll quit the FBI," Scully said. "Sooner or later. Monica's craving a family, some children of her own, and I think that'll be fulfilling enough for her. And John, if he ever works again, it won't be as an FBI agent."

"John's not the type to sit around," Christi said. "He needs to do something with himself."

"There's too many memories in the FBI," Scully said. "It would never be the same now. And I think it would scare Monica if he were to be on active field duty. She couldn't bear the risk."

"That's probably true," Christi agreed. "And nor could she bear it with you and Mulder."

"No, she couldn't," Scully agreed heavily. "We'll have to pull out of field work."

"And would that bother you?" Christi asked. "Giving up your career?'

"I could never go back into the mainstream now," Scully said truthfully. "Not without John and Monica. Not without Mulder."

"And you think Mulder will throw it in too?"

"I don't know," Scully said.

Of all of them, Mulder was the most deeply connected to the FBI, and she knew him extremely well. He would be persuaded to leave field work, to steer clear of all danger, and he would likely leave the X-Files as a consequence. But she knew that Mulder was an intellectually hungry man. It was one reason they were ideally suited to each other. He was as driven as she was, and neither would ever be content with retiring to participate solely in a domestic life. Already the possibility of Mulder resurrecting his career as a profiler had entered into her mind. To simply consult on cases, to be involved in none of the immediate danger. It was one possibility. It would satisfy him, and Monica and John would both be comfortable with it.

"And maybe I don't want to leave, either," Scully said honestly. "Not completely."

"Well you are a forensic pathologist," Christi said. "You could always go back to that. You could stay here in Atlanta with us - if that's the way it does work out - and then you'd be close to everyone, could even work at the field office."

"Yes," Scully said, nodding along. "I just need to do something with myself. I need a career. And I can't help thinking more and more about resurrecting my career as a medical doctor. I think I have a lot more to give now than I did a few years ago, when I joined the Bureau."

"I bet you have," Christi said. "The hundreds of cases you've consulted on, your enormous amount of experience, you're a gold mine of knowledge and expertise. I'm sure Jana would give you any position you want. I'm sure any university here would take you with open arms as well."

That thought, too, had occurred to Scully. She wondered how Mulder, John and Monica would react. But surely they would be supportive ...

"I'm going to need help," Scully said. "After what happened up there ..."

"The first autopsy might be hard," Christi finished. "I know. But don't worry about it. We can all help you on that. I'm sure Doctor Cheung would be more than willing."

Scully was quiet.

"Is that all that's bothering you?" Christi asked gently, rubbing her back.

Scully nodded. "I guess I just needed to tell someone, get it off my chest."

Christi smiled. "Well that's what I'm here for."

Christi kissed her on the cheek.

"But you do need to tell the others. They have to know."

"I know," Scully said, nodding. Though she dreaded the conversation.

"Are you sure there isn't anything else?" Christi asked, looking concerned.

Scully sighed, knowing how odd she must look. "I think I just feel a little strange."

"It's understandable," Christi said. "So much has happened. So many, _many _changes in such a short space of time. I think it's natural that you might feel a little unsure, a little disoriented. But everything's going to work out, Dana. We'll make sure of it. And whatever happens, we're all going to be very happy."

Scully smiled. It was nice to hear such supportive confidence.

"And I know just where to start, too," Christi added.

Scully waited.

"Your nails," Christi said with a smile. "Don't fret, I have some nail polish remover at home."

Scully laughed a little.

"My God that's hideous," Christi said, laughing as she took her fingers and studied the pale blue.

"Christi."

"Yeah?"

"I feel very lucky to have you as my sister. And I'm extremely happy for you and Charlie."

Christi grinned. "And I feel extremely lucky to have _you_."

And with a wide smile, Christi wrapped her arms around her and hugged her. Whatever the future held, they would work it out.

* * *

_ I feel like things are finally starting to resolve, like the end is edging nearer (in relative terms). Kind of good, kind of a shame. I hope you all continue to stick with me!_


	34. Chapter 34

**_Chapter 64 - Healing_**

"So what do you think?" Monica asked.

John sifted through several printouts about the elite St. Margaret's school in San Diego, the one Tara and Bill had nominated as their ideal school of choice for their kids.

"Looks good," he replied. "Results in the state's top ten, all the extras ..."

"And not too far for them to travel," Mulder added.

"Dana?" Monica prompted.

Scully sighed and struggled to focus on the pages in her hands. It was late Friday afternoon, two days after their visit to Christi's school. The four of them were sitting on Monica and John's sofa bed, having a private meeting about their finances. The first topic on the agenda had been a summary from Monica of stock she had bought for them during the day, followed by a list of more she had outlined as possibilities. Scully had only needed less than ten seconds looking at Monica's spreadsheet to see that she was extremely good at what she did, and was entirely happy with leaving their money to her management. But it was a gradual process, and for now stock had been the only investment Monica had ventured into, trading most of the day on Jack's laptop. The real estate and cash investment components of their overall financial plan were more involved, and would take place in a few more weeks, when they were feeling better and more confident in engaging with society. Thus far, with the exception of their impulsive visit to the school, none of them had dared to venture even one step out the front door, and they had relaxed inside. Monica spent most of her time investing, Scully studying, and Mulder and John, who had begun to show signs of boredom, had spent most of the day helping Jack service their two cars, shut in the warmth of the garage.

"Earth to Scully," Mulder said, hand moving on her back.

"Yeah, uh ..." She flicked over a page of photos and glanced down the school curriculum. "It's a good choice, if that's what they want."

"Then I'll call the school first thing Monday morning," Monica decided. "We'll send them the money to secure Matthew's place."

Scully nodded in agreement. Monica started gathering up the papers on the school and moved to shut down the laptop, the meeting now over.

"You tired?" John asked.

"A little," Scully admitted.

"You've been working hard," Mulder said, hand still rubbing her back, up and down, up and down. "All that studying."

"Yes."

But she was saved the pain of elaborating when there was a soft knock at the door.

"Come in," Monica said, closing the lid of the laptop.

It was Deirdre, putting her head tentatively around the door.

"You can come in," John said. "We're all done."

"You decided on the school?" Deirdre asked casually, sitting down beside Monica.

"We're going to call them Monday," Monica confirmed.

"Well I hope you'll be able to get them in," Deirdre said, sounding a little doubtful.

"We will," Monica said confidently.

Scully had the feeling that this was not the first time Monica had used such persuasion tactics. Her previous family must have commanded a lot of respect back in Mexico.

"What did you want to talk to us about?" Scully asked, thinking they might as well cut to the chase. She did not believe for one moment that Deirdre's entrance was a coincidence.

Mulder's hand stopped rubbing her back, and Scully knew immediately that her words had come out a little abrupt. John and Monica, too, were giving her looks.

"Sorry, I -"

She broke off, not knowing how to finish the sentence. She did not feel quite right, hadn't for days now, but she reminded herself yet again that this was expected of all of them. The things they had been through were not the hurdles they could jump in a single day. It would take time.

"No, don't be sorry," Deirdre said warmly, shifting to sit next to her and rubbing her hand. "You're quite right that I want to talk to you all. There are a few things I'd like to discuss."

They all waited, giving her a clear field.

"How do you feel?"

Scully hesitated, as did the others. Deirdre knew very well how they all felt. She was taking each of them for individual counselling sessions every day. The fact that she asked now gave Scully the feeling that something big and delicate was coming.

"I think we're doin' well," John said with a shrug. "Things are improving every day."

"Maggie's beginning to worry you might all be feeling a little bored," Deirdre said. "You've been here for several days now, had plenty of opportunity to relax, put your feet up ... I did wonder if it's becoming a little mundane being cooped up in the house."

"No, we're fine," Monica assured her.

"It's been just what we've needed," John added.

"I can understand that," Deirdre said. "You've been through so much, you were in desperate need of some down time. And I can see looking at you now that that's been somewhat successful. You're all looking healthier than you were in Washington. But our concern is, that now you've had several days to relax, we don't want your progress to plateau. You are staying here because we love you, and every one of us is committed to helping you every step of the way, but in that bargain is a request that you actively work with us in your recovery. I'm gravely concerned at what might happen if you sit around for too long. I think that every day we need to be taking a step in your recovery, even if it's only something really small. It's just that there are a lot of issues you still need to confront, and I don't want this time off becoming an excuse to hide from them."

"But we feel fine," Monica said, looking confused.

"What issues do you see?" Mulder asked.

"Our isolation," Scully said heavily. She understood perfectly now where Deirdre was heading. They had been starting to relax perhaps a little too much. It would be far too easy to let this protected state become a permanent way of life.

"Dana, we're not isolated," Monica argued. "Just two days ago we went to the school, engaged with hundreds of students..."

"Yes," Scully said, nodding along. "And under the constant guard of Deirdre, a dozen family members, the entire school staff, the director of the FBI, and one of the world's leading post-trauma psychiatrists. And all of whom worded up the students for nearly an hour before letting them meet us."

"And the same was true of your TV interview," Deirdre said gently. "Jana and Dr Cheung went to extraordinary lengths to protect you, to make sure no one asked you upsetting questions. But I'm afraid the real world isn't going to be that sensitive."

Monica and John both looked struck by this statement and fell sadly silent.

"Let me paint you a picture," Deirdre said, taking Monica's hand. "Anne has a shopping list on the fridge. Do you feel that you would be able to take that list, drive to the supermarket - alone - pick up every item, navigate through a sea of people who recognise you and ask you _endless _questions about your horrific experiences, and drive home again, without being any more bothered than you would have before the accident?"

Monica still looked stricken. John wasn't far behind her.

Deirdre paused, giving them a moment to recognise how incapacitated the four of them really were. Scully could see plainly that they were totally dependent on their families, but it was not serviceable as a permanent strategy.

Deirdre squeezed Monica's hand. "Let me help. We're going to work on it together, one step at a time."

Scully sat in silence, waiting for Monica, John and Mulder to come on board.

"Okay," Mulder said, taking a deep breath.

Monica, too, took a deep breath and met Deirdre's eyes with courage. "You're right. We need our independence."

John gave a daunted nod.

"All right," Deirdre said. "I thought we'd start with walking the dog every morning. It'll get you out of the house, breathing some fresh air, and it'll help with your physical fitness as well. Besides which there's plenty of evidence that shows exercise can help with depression. So I want you to set your alarms early tomorrow morning, I'll be here at seven, and we're all going to take a little walk together."

"Is everyone else coming?" Monica asked, looking daunted at the possibility of meeting members of the public without their support network.

"Yes, they're all coming," Deirdre assured her. "We're going to help you every step of the way."

Monica nodded, looking a little more relaxed.

"Is that all right?" Deirdre asked the others. "Tell me now if you think it's too much, too early. We won't be going far - just a short walk to start with."

Scully nodded, summoning her courage. "No, that's good."

"I think it's a good place to start," Mulder agreed nervously.

"I agree," John added.

"Excellent," Deirdre said, giving Monica's hand a supportive squeeze. "And there's something else I'd like you to try too. While you're staying here, I'd like you to try to contribute to some of the household chores. It'll help keep you active, maintain some of your basic independence, and it'll ease the load on Anne and Jack. So I'm going to ask that the four of you are responsible for at least two evening meals a week - and we'll buy you any ingredients you need at this stage, just give us a list - and I'd also like each of you to contribute to the washing and ironing of clothes."

"Agreed," Scully said, without hesitation.

"It's only fair," John said.

"Good," Deirdre said. "Then we'll make those things our starting point. And we'll stick with each other, continue to ask for help when you need to, and we'll all come through this together."

XXX

Early the next morning, Scully found herself standing in the hallway, wrapped in a thick coat and blue scarf, waiting for Jack to join the group with the Golden Retriever. Both Monica and John were uncharacteristically quiet, Monica standing with her arms folded as though she was already cold, and John with his arm around her shoulders. Scully could think of several reasons for their quietness, which included the early start, meaning a lack of time for their usual romantic activities, nervousness at the big step they were about to undertake, and also an overall lack of sleep from the previous night.

"You okay?" she asked them.

"I'll let you know when we're back," Monica replied.

"We have to do this," Scully said logically. "We'll only accumulate even more anxieties if we put it off."

"You don't want to be an invalid," Mulder added quietly. "To be unable to even walk down the street. Lock yourself away."

"I know," Monica replied. "That's why I'm standing here. Just don't ask me to jump for joy if people stop us and ask what it tasted like."

The words hit Scully like a sledgehammer, and she pictured the scene of some other early Saturday morning walker, stopping them and asking questions. What could they possibly say? And it would undoubtedly happen again and again and again, for the rest of their lives they would be identified by that one experience they endured. It would never be completely behind him, never permanently settle. But, she thought, coming to terms with the fact was perhaps half the battle. She could not let it get the better of her. Deirdre was right. One step out the door, a few more around the block, and then back to the house.

"It's okay," Mulder said softly, his arm slipping around her shoulders, his lips against her temple.

She closed her eyes, feeling Mulder's soft lips, his warm embrace.

When she opened her eyes again, she saw that Monica looked like she was thoroughly regretting her words, and in Scully's sudden attack of nerves she found a new source of courage.

"We can't let it beat us," she said firmly. "And I refuse to be ashamed of anything we've done."

"That's the spirit," Anne said brightly, as their relatives at last arrived to join them, Jack bringing Goldie trotting along beside him on a leash.

"All right, I think we're ready," Deirdre said, as everyone assembled, all wrapped in warm coats. "Now I want the four of you to remember that if you start feeling anxious, grab hold of someone. Especially you, Dana. And if we do come across anyone, you don't have to speak if you feel uncomfortable. You can leave the talking to us for now. All I'm asking is that you simply walk your feet with us around the block."

"You've got a deal," John said for them.

"That's it," Mrs Scully said approvingly. "A positive attitude is all it takes."

"Shall we go, then?" Christi said, grabbing the doorknob.

She opened the door, and a second later Scully was being steered by Mulder out of the doorway. He dropped his arm from her shoulders and they held hands instead. She could feel the tension in his fingers as they walked down the two steps to the front lawn, and surveyed the streetscape. It was another miserable winter morning, grey overcast sky, but as it was early Saturday most people in the neighbourhood appeared to be still indoors, and the streets were empty.

"See?" Jack said cheerfully. "Not even anyone about. Just relax, enjoy yourselves."

Feeling a little more at ease at seeing not a single person, Scully gave Mulder's hand a squeeze and followed the group as they started walking, Goldie darting this way and that to sniff everything in sight. And all of a sudden it was easy. The trees swayed slightly in the bitter wind, but other than their own feet, it was the only movement. Monica and John walked directly in front of them with their arms around each other, and like her, they looked more comfortable at seeing how sleepy the neighbourhood was.

"You okay?" Charlie asked from behind, where he was walking hand in hand with Christi.

"We're feeling better already," Mulder said, his hand finally relaxing in hers as they walked past Christi's house, nearing the first corner on their route around the block.

Scully glanced over her shoulder and caught a wink from Christi.

It went fine until they went around the next corner, and Scully spotted a middle aged woman collecting the morning paper from her mailbox. Scully suddenly felt like darting across to the other side of the road - or better still, turning around and going back the way she came, but she knew that to retreat would be to give in to the post-traumatic stress, and the consequence would be living her life as a nervous wreck. She saw Deirdre look over her shoulder at them, checking they were all right.

"Just relax," Christi said softly from behind. "Her name's Rose, she goes to Mom's church. She's harmless."

Scully barely had time to feel reassured before Rose spotted them.

"Anne!" she said cheerfully, beaming and standing there waiting for them to catch up to her.

"Hi, Rose," Anne said warmly. "How've you been?"

"Oh, we've been great!" Rose said, as Anne, Jack, Mrs Scully and Deirdre stopped to talk to her. Feeling the woman's eyes upon them already, Scully paused a step or two back, more than happy to let Deirdre take the conversation as she had promised them she would. Charlie let go of Christi and moved to stand beside her.

"Or at least a lot better than you, I think," Rose went on, looking around at them all with intense sympathy. "We've been praying for you. John - I simply could _not _believe it when we heard. I am so, _so _sorry. Not that we're not absolutely thrilled you survived, of course, but I'm so sorry that - well you know -"

Scully had the impression that Rose was trying her best to treat them as normal people, but was struggling to know what to say when the family she knew as members of the local church now turned up outside her house as new celebrities, with emaciated bodies, having witnessed death and destruction beyond her wild dreams. And Scully felt pained, knowing that Rose meant well yet the manner in which she struggled for the right words and looked simply awkward only making everything feel somehow more painful, somehow shallow and ineffective in concealing her real thoughts, concealing the real horror of Scully's memories she knew Rose was picturing as she stood there.

"Thanks," John replied, trying to be polite but looking extremely anxious. Christi stood on the other side of him to Monica, her hand on his back.

"Anyway," Rose said brightly. "You all look a lot better than you have on TV. All those cameras! If there's anything we can do, let us know."

"Yeah, it's been an experience," Jack said, giving her a look that showed his thoughts on the media.

"Anyway, it hasn't all been bad news," Anne said. "You know John and Monica are newly engaged, and Christi and Charlie -"

"Yes, I heard!" Rose said, seizing this cheerful topic with dramatic enthusiasm. "Congratulations!"

"Thanks," Christi said happily. "We're all going to be married later in the year."

"Well, I am so happy for you," Rose said sincerely, stepping forward to kiss John on the cheek, and then following it with a kiss to Monica's. "I am so glad something good came out of everything. And oh my Lord, just listen to me! I'm standing here rattling on and you mustn't have a clue who I am!" She addressed Monica. "I'm Rose, Anne and I have been to the same church for years. Knew John and Christi here since they were both in diapers."

"It's nice to meet you," Monica said politely.

The statement only increased Scully's anxieties. This would be how it always was, she thought. They were celebrities, and people would treat them with familiarity even though Scully, Mulder, Monica and John might not have a clue who they were. They would be bombarded with feelings, questions and judgements, and expected to engage in it with interest or delight, when she herself just wanted to keep walking and be left alone.

"And Dana and Fox," Rose went on, reaching forward and holding out her hand to Scully. "So honoured to meet you at last."

Scully shook Rose's hand, trying to give the woman a polite smile.

Mulder, however, shook her hand warmly and asked, "You've been following us on TV?"

"I watched your interview the other night," Rose said. "And I cried _all _the way through it. You were so brave, and -"

"Excuse me," Scully said, turning away before she had even registered that she had said the words.

She retreated down the deserted street, aiming for some thick bushes over a fence that hid her from the view of the houses.

"Dana!" Charlie called, but Scully ignored him and kept marching away, anxious to put as much distance between herself and the woman as possible.

She heard footsteps jogging after her, and by time she hit the seclusion of the bushy trees they caught up with her. Out of the very corner of her eye Scully saw it was only Deirdre and Charlie. She did not dare glance back up at the others, but knew they were probably all watching her, but had probably been told to stay back by Deirdre.

"Calm down," Deirdre said gently. She took Scully's arm and walked her back a step, sitting her on a low brick fence, her arm then firmly around her shoulders, holding her to her. "Just stay calm."

Scully closed her eyes, not wanting to look at the houses on the other side of the street, knowing they held even more strangers, that they were surrounded by strangers who would ask the same ridiculous questions, who would always stop to say hello, whom she wanted _nothing _to do with ...

"Stay calm," Deirdre said again. Charlie sat on her other side, his hand holding hers. "Count to ten for me."

Scully barely heard the words.

"Come on," Deirdre repeated. "Count to ten."

But Scully, head in her hands to avoid looking at anyone or anything, only felt like crushing her own skull to get out of the trapped situation she was in.

She felt Charlie's fingers pressing into her wrist. "Her pulse is hammering ..."

Deirdre snuck a hand to the front of Scully's coat, feeling her breathing.

"Dana, I need you to tell me what you're feeling," Deirdre said, calmly and clearly. "Give me an adjective."

Scully felt only tension, and a strong feeling that this outing had all been a stupid mistake.

"An adjective, Dana," Charlie said, squeezing her hand.

Deirdre held her, offering suggestions. "Anxious? Tense? Scared?"

"Tense," Scully said, feeling it in every muscle throughout her body.

"Tense," Deirdre repeated, sounding pleased to her a response. "What else?"

"Scared."

"Why scared?" Deirdre asked. "What scares you?"

"I don't want to be famous," Scully heard herself saying. "I don't want any of this. I can't do it."

"No, I think you can," Deirdre said, dismissing Scully's surrendering attitude. "You're an incredibly strong woman. It just takes time. No one expected you to feel overjoyed when people say these things to you, especially this first time, it was always going to be quite a shock. And we'd take it all away if we could. But unfortunately we can't do that for you. It's going to take time, but we're going to work our way through it."

"Maybe I don't want to learn," Scully said, as her heart hammered with anger. "I don't want any of this."

"You need to learn," Deirdre said firmly. "If you're going to have a life of any kind, you're going to need to work against this."

"I can't."

"Of course you can," Charlie said, with sudden strength in his voice. "You're a Scully. This is what our family has been about for generations. Not a single one has given in to fear. You have courage in your blood, Dana. We've all seen that time and again in your life, and I refuse to sit here and watch you give up. It'd break Dad's heart if he saw you doing this."

And Scully pictured her father, imagining him standing there with them, telling her to face her demons, to get control, to stand up fearless and win the battle. No Scully had ever before been accused of cowardice.

"It's perfectly okay to try and fail," Deirdre said. "But it's never okay to not try."

And Scully nodded, her father still standing before her, demand she get up again, make them all proud.

"And you know people like Rose only say these things because they care," Deirdre said. "It's done out of the kindest possible motives, because they see someone they like and they really feel for what you went through. They might not know how to express it, but they do care."

"It's so hard," Scully said. "Harder than I ever thought it would be."

"Then we learn strategies to cope. We don't give up."

"I want to go home," Scully said softly. "I've had enough for one day."

"Okay," Deirdre said sympathetically, rubbing her back. "Let's go. We'll walk you home, but when we get there we're having a talk."

XXX

"You can come in now."

Scully watched from her position propped up in bed as Deirdre opened the bedroom door, letting Mulder, Monica and John inside. For the past half hour, the two of them had been having a debriefing of the events of their morning walk, in the context of what strategies they could use next time it happened. Deirdre had several good ideas, including simply shaking the person's hand and thanking them before quickly steering the conversation somewhere safe. Talking only in positives, such as the engagements, was another one. But on the whole, on reflection, Scully could not help feeling a little ashamed of what had happened. She knew her behaviour in walking away so suddenly must have appeared either rude or bizarre, and made up her mind to do it more tactfully next time.

"I'll leave you to chat," Deirdre said, closing the door behind her.

Mulder, Monica and John all immediately rushed to her bedside. Mulder arrived first, sitting himself down beside her knees.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked, a hand on her knee through the thick blanket.

"A little ashamed," Scully admitted. "But much better."

She smiled at his look of sincere relief, and reached out for his warm hand. He leaned in, and Scully accepted his lips with love, holding them for far longer than he had intended to kiss her for. But it was nice, so gentle and comforting, and she found her hand slipping under the hem of his shirts to touch some warm bare skin at his waist.

It was several more moments before she pulled away, and even then she didn't want it to finish.

"Jump in," she invited, holding up the corner of the blankets. Mulder quickly shed his shoes and climbed in with her. She adjusted her position so she was leaning against his chest, his arms around her waist.

She then met Monica and John's eyes, and saw they both had smiles on their faces.

Monica picked up the conversation where Scully had left it. "You don't need to feel ashamed."

"You weren't the one who bolted," Scully pointed out.

"Only because we couldn't," John said. "Christi was holding me there."

"Dana, we all reacted," Monica said. "Just in different ways. When Rose shook my hand my hand was shaking so much she must've thought I had Parkinson's."

"No one expected us to make it first time around," John said logically. "Or even next time. It's not supposed to be easy."

"I know," Scully said, thinking again of her own father. "And that's why I'm not giving up."

They all smiled.

"And neither are we," Mulder added, giving her a squeeze.

"We just need to alter the way we approach things," Monica said thoughtfully. "Let Deirdre help us find a way to make it work. Because she's right that we need our independence."

"I know," Scully said.

"I say we try again tomorrow," John said. "Same deal. Goal just to get around the block in one piece."

"Agreed," Scully said. She felt so annoyed with her own failure that she would have been ready to dash out again right away, utterly determined to make it.

"And let's make a pact," Monica said. "That over the coming weeks we're going to continue to work at things. Just the way Deirdre mentioned yesterday. And we _won't _give in, we _won't _let each other give up, until the one day the four of us can take that shopping list off the fridge and go buy every item by ourselves."

"Done," Mulder said. "No surrendering."

"Do you swear?" Monica asked.

"I swear," Mulder said.

"And you?" she asked John.

"Shit yeah," he replied, with a lopsided smile.

"Dana?"

Scully took a deep breath. "No."

She almost felt Mulder's confusion. "Scully?"

"I haven't been honest with you," Scully said with a sigh. "There's a lot of things I haven't said."

"Things you might've told Christi in the staff room that day?" Mulder asked shrewdly.

"Yes," Scully said honestly. "That's a part of it."

And it was with a lot of trepidation that Scully finally related everything she had told Christi. She admitted to wanting to leave work as a field agent, leave the X-Files, and resurrect her career as a medical doctor. She admitted the fears she had to overcome in being able to perform autopsies again, to relocate that sense of detachment and not think that she had once eaten similar bodies to survive. She admitted that she had already told Deirdre all of things in counselling, and that she had promised they would work on it, in a month or two when other more basic issues were settled, and that Doctor Cheung had promised he would help her through the first few autopsies, until she regained her professional self. She mentioned her already lingering idea of working as a forensic pathologist through the Atlanta Field Office, and the vague idea of perhaps teaching the subject at university, sharing her unparalleled experience with the next generation. She even carefully admitted her suspicions that Monica and John would start a family, perhaps leave the X-Files, and saw in both their faces that this was entirely true. Monica wanted children, and her drive to heal mentally was based on this desire to provide a stable environment for future children. But it was incredible nervousness that Scully approached the idea of closing the X-Files, and leaving her professional partnership her Mulder.

"Well ..." Monica said hesitantly, as this sensitive subject arose, "In all honesty I'd rather you work in the safety of a morgue or a lecture theatre than out in the field. I know it may sound controlling, but I can't accept anyone here putting themselves in those risky situations ever again."

"I agree," John admitted. "We're not the same people we were."

But it was with incredible nervousness that Scully waited for Mulder's opinion. Leaning against him, she could not read his face, but his hands, clasped over hers on her abdomen, were not rigid with tension, but as soft and loving as they had been the entire time.

"You're my priority," Mulder said at last. "All of you. The three of you are everything that counts."

"But it's your life," Scully couldn't help saying, glad that she wasn't looking into his eyes, out of risk of seeing the sadness that had to be there. "It has been for so many years. It's just that I can't ..."

She trailed off, but he squeezed her hands.

"And neither can I," he said sadly. "And I can't explain why I feel that way, only that I do. The X-Files have been our focus for so many years now, and perhaps that means we were due for a change. Maybe it _was _becoming stale. But we're not who we were a month ago, and we never will be again. Our perspectives on life, on our own lives, have changed with everything we've witnessed, and I, too, find myself looking for new things now. Trying to find a new life."

"And what do you envisage for your new life?" Scully asked. She knew what she wanted, knew what Monica wanted, and to some extent what John wanted. Mulder, however, had remained quiet.

"I'm not sure yet," he replied honestly, hands moving lovingly over hers. "I only know that whatever it is, I'm going to find it here."

She squeezed his hands back, and he wove her fingers through hers. Had she been facing him, she would have kissed him.

Monica and John smiled sweetly, watching them, and it was a long moment before anyone spoke again.

At last, John said logically, "Well if you want your badge back, you're going to have to pass the physical."

"And in that case walking and jogging every morning could be just the place to start," Mulder added.

Scully smiled, now knowing they were okay with it. She felt like the world had a new peaceful glow.

"I'll do it with you," Mulder said, squeezing her fingers yet again. "I'd like to pass it, too."

"And me," John said. "If only to prove that I can."

"Me, too," Monica added. "I need my physical fitness back."

The missing words in Monica's statement did not go unnoticed by Scully. She still strongly suspected that Monica was going to resign from the Bureau. It was perhaps too early yet, but in another month or two, when they cleared the eight week barrier things would become more certain. But for now, Scully knew that Monica's declaration had everything to do with wanting to help them, as well as reasons of any future child bearing, and nothing to do with the FBI physical.

"Well, it sounds settled then," John said with a smile.

"Not entirely," Scully said, feeling another wave of nervousness seep through her.

"There's more?" Mulder asked.

Scully did not immediately reply, debating how to best phrase the most difficult request of all. It was the one that had been weighing most on her mind for days now, ever since Deirdre had given her the books on psychiatry. It was also the one she had not yet mentioned to anyone, having chickened out of mentioning it to Christi that day, and having so much already to talk to Deirdre about in her counselling sessions that to add this other weight had been too much. But it was also the one idea that meant more to her than any other, and therefore the one she was most afraid they would reject.

Monica and John looked increasingly nervous the longer she hesitated.

"Tell us," Mulder said, rubbing her hands encouragingly.

Scully took a deep breath. "It's about the books I've been reading on post-traumatic stress. I've been reading the theories, trying to apply all that's known on the subject to our own lives. What we went through, what we're going through now, the difficulties we could very well face in the future. And I have found it's been very helpful. I feel it's given me strength, helped me to make sense of it, get things ordered in my head."

"Well that's great," John said, eyes narrowed as he wondered what the catch was.

"What's the problem?" Monica asked warily.

"When I had my cancer I had a journal. It was recommended to me by my doctor as a way of releasing a lot of my feelings and frustrations. And I did find it enormously helpful, in transcribing to paper what I struggled with in my head, and through that, making a little more sense of it. I feel now that the same strategy would help me again."

"Then go for it," Mulder said, sounding puzzled by the enormous lead up to the statement. "Whatever helps."

"No, you misunderstand me," Scully said, then hesitated again. "It would be more than a journal. Not just a series of writings to help me deal with the pain. I want to write an actual record of what's happened. Everything that happened on the mountain. A lot of what's happened since. Through the eyes of a doctor."

"Are you saying you want to publish it?" Monica asked slowly. "As in a book?"

Scully willed her nerves to remain steady. "Yes. I am."

In that instant it was as if time stopped altogether. Monica was staring at her, completely surprised. John looked equally shocked. Mulder's hands had stopped their pleasant roaming over hers, and her abdomen, and had stopped still.

"I guess I'm asking your permission," Scully went on.

Still they stared.

It was Monica who recovered first.

"But Dana," she said, looking thoroughly confused, "You _hate _the public attention. We saw that perfectly well only an hour ago. And several days ago for the interview. I had to practically crowbar you in there. Why are you suddenly so keen to expose yourself to the public eye?"

"I'm not doing it for the public eye. I'm doing it primarily for the eyes of the medical profession. _Everything _that happened, through the eyes of a doctor. A complete, one hundred percent honest account of how a sudden turn of events can turn lives upside down, even four people as professional as ourselves. An eye-opener to what can happen, and to the strategies we've found to fight it, the lessons we can take out of this and transfer to thousands of other sufferers around the world. The ones I read about now in the case studies in those books, who aren't anywhere near as fortunate as we are."

There was a pause.

"As a doctor I can explain this in a way that an ordinary citizen can't. I won't be writing for pop culture, but for an audience of my own colleagues. So that I can take this situation and use it to better the lives of others, to take the stand on the world stage, to make myself and my family proud."

She saw all their eyes soften with understanding.

"Then you have our permission," John said simply, looking awed at the scale of the project Scully wanted to undertake, and the enormous courage it would take.

"I have one condition," Monica said.

"What's that?"

"That you don't mention my prior relationship with Brad. Let his memory rest in peace. I don't want the Bureau exposed to slander."

"I'll leave it out," Scully promised.

"Can we read it when you're done?" John asked.

"Every word," Scully agreed.

"Then you have our full support," Mulder said.

Scully smiled, feeling at last the full relief of having admitted everything that had been weighing on her mind. She squeezed Mulder's hand gratefully, and he kissed her hair.

"Thank you."

"It's going to take a lot of courage," Mulder pointed out, sounding a little concerned.

"Not more than I have," Scully said, feeling determination surging through her veins.

"Don't forget you're going to need the go-ahead from the FBI," Monica said. "And our families downstairs if you're going to feature them."

"I will," Scully said. "I'll get them all."

It was then that she noticed John was looking at her oddly.

"What is it?" she asked.

"We're lucky to have you," he said, looking at her with awe.

Scully smiled. "Not half as lucky as I am to have you."

XXX

**_Chapter 65 - Three Weeks Later_**

It was three Saturdays later and Scully was sitting in the upper storey of the charity shop that Anne helped run every Saturday morning. She had not been in for the previous month, having been fully committed to their care, but now they had improved enough to be able to cope a little with being in public, and Deirdre had suggested they come along for the morning, even if only to sit upstairs and help sort through donations.

Their second trip around the block had been a success, and from there they had gone from strength to strength. Morning walks were now a daily routine, and sometimes some evening ones as well. The distance, too, had gradually become longer and longer as they became more comfortable. They had also learned to deal with encounters from members of the public, and Scully was now able to shake their hands, smile politely, thank them for their kind words and steer the conversation off the events and onto something harmless. Once they got the hang of this strategy, Deirdre progressed them further, throwing in a stop at a small corner shop to buy the newspaper, which she then enforced as a daily requirement, and then onto other small shops as well, picking up fruit, bread or milk. They had not yet encountered a full scale supermarket, but Scully knew this was where Deirdre was heading once they had mastered the little local ones.

Deirdre had enforced other routines as well, the key point being that they were to stay active and engaged. She understood the time Monica spent on the laptop investing their money, and Scully studying and writing, but she had soon requested that they spent a part of each day balancing it with something else. To that end, they regularly completed tasks around the house, including helping Christi clean out her old wardrobe in Mulder and Scully's room, helping Anne clean up the back garden, pulling up weeds and planting several new plants, and sometimes even more relaxing tasks, including one rainy afternoon when they had completed a thousand piece puzzle together. But every day it was something new, and they had little time to sink into depression. Now three weeks on, Deirdre was planning a visit out to Jenny's the following week. Jenny lived on a large property with lots of horses, and Deirdre thought that visiting Jenny, Brian and Sophie would be a good little trip for them. Deirdre had also voiced the idea of a picnic down the local lake once the weather warmed up a little more.

Lounging in her chair in the upstairs room of the charity shop, surrounded by boxes and bags of clothing donations, Scully reflected that they were progressing quite well. They each had their unique weaknesses. Scully remained prone to anxiety attacks. With Mulder it was nightmares, especially of being buried in the avalanche, and several times Scully woke to find him yelling or sweating, and once had even found him missing entirely and leapt up in panic to search the house only to find him crying in her mother's room, her mother rocking him in her arms. For John, it was moodiness that affected him, sometimes lapsing into depressed moods, often carrying tears in his eyes as he remembered people they had lost and pain they had endured. Scully knew Deirdre was still working with him on a lot of the harrowing memories from the mountains. And for Monica, it was the scars of her parents' desertion that continued to haunt her. When this was combined with the losses of so many of their colleagues, she was continually nervous about losing more people she loved.

It was this that reared its head again as Scully helped sort through a large bag of old clothes, searching for items in good condition that they could sell downstairs in the shop. Christi was sitting cross-legged in front of a large box, and Monica was on a nearby seat, absorbed in an old magazine she had found in the pile.

"What are you reading?" Scully asked curiously, picking up an old men's' jacket and shaking it out.

"About breast cancer," Monica said, looking stricken. "This man lost his wife to it. They have three young kids now without a mother."

Christi met Scully's eyes, both of them thinking the same thing.

"We should be doing breast checks," Monica said, looking up at them both. "Are you doing them regularly?"

"Yep, it's all taken care of," Christi said cheerfully. "Charlie checks mine several times a day. If anything were wrong he'd let me know straight away."

Scully couldn't help grinning. It was a shame that it was only two weeks now before Charlie had to be back in San Diego.

"And Mulder checks mine," Scully added playfully, determined to keep the conversation light.

"Does that mean you're ..." Christi began.

"No," Scully said, sighing. "Not yet."

The thought still saddened her a little, but she knew that things had still significantly improved from where they were. It was another thing that would not heal instantly, as the cause of her inability and disinterest was the enormous weights on her mind, and when those weights cleared, so too would the problems in their sex life. When she felt at peace again, felt content in her heart again and able to think of ordinary things and not death and horror, their relations would resume. Until then, she had taken Monica's advice and was committed to regular intimacy, in the form of sleeping naked together, showering with him, and a good deal of kissing and touching.

"It'll get better, Dana," Christi said. "Have faith. Once you're feeling a little better, it'll happen all by itself."

"That's right," Monica said encouragingly.

"Although I know it probably doesn't help to have your mom in the next room," Christi said sympathetically. "And my parents down the hall. But still..."

"We'll manage," Scully said. Neither her nor Mulder were particularly noisy in bed. It was Monica and John who had to control themselves. Scully could often hear them through the wall, giving it all they had.

It was then that Scully saw Monica was leaning over slightly, a hand to her abdomen.

"Monica?" she asked.

"Dana, I think -"

Scully hurried over, putting a hand on Monica's shoulder.

"What is it?" Christi asked, kneeling in front of Monica, hands on her knees.

"Cramping," Monica said in wonder, loosening her grip on her abdomen.

Scully felt her worry fly straight into joy. "You're menstruating again?"

Monica looked stunned, then relieved, and then suddenly panicked.

"I don't have anything with me ..."

"I do," Christi said, standing up and crossing to find her bag amongst the boxes. "I always carry something."

Monica beamed as she took the item, tears in her eyes at relief of this sign, the evaporation of her secret fear that it would be a permanent state and she would never have children.

"I have to tell John," she said, standing up.

"You have to get to the toilet," Scully corrected. "Unless you're willing to face severe embarrassment."

"I'll tell John," Christi volunteered. "And Mom. You just go."

Monica left the room, smiling to herself. Scully walked with Christi to the doorway, where they hesitated at the top of the stairs.

"Well now that's happened," Christi said quietly, "I predict it won't be long before we get an addition to the family."

"I give it nine months," Scully said with a smile.

Christi grinned as she headed down the stairs to tell John and Anne.

And Scully, waiting outside the toilet door, had no idea that in a year's time she would look back on that conversation and smile. For Christi's words had been more right - and more wrong - than they had ever dreamed.


	35. Chapter 35

_Thanks to everyone who sent feedback on the last chapter. You guys keep me writing! This chapter will explain what I meant by those last lines. I really enjoyed reading everyone's interpretations. I hope I do not disappoint! This chapter is also posted early instead of one next weekend, as I doubt I will have the time. I hope you like it!_

**_

* * *

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Chapter 66 - Goodbye Charlie

It was two weeks after their morning in the charity shop, and two days before Charlie was due to leave to rejoin the Navy until his term expired in October. As this deadline approached, Scully had spotted both him and Christi become increasingly sad, although they did their best to put on brave faces in front of each other. But when Scully caught them by themselves, they were often staring sadly into space, plainly wondering how they were going to survive this eight month stretch.

Other news, however, was more positive. Among this was that it had now been six weeks since their return from the mountains. This concluded the period in which the doctors had warned them to make no big decisions, lest it should be the trauma talking and they would do things they would later regret, and it was also an estimated time of when they would have some idea of whether they would suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Scully had never expected they would escape this diagnosis, as what they had suffered was simply too great, but they were nevertheless recovering superbly well, and as far as the disorder went their cases were quite mild. Thanks to Deirdre, they were well on their way to being able to function in the everyday world. They had now even mastered a supermarket, though Monica, sticking to her strict vegetarian regime, had absolutely refused to walk down the meat aisle. But the fact remained that on the whole they had learned to shop as any normal person did. Deirdre's next step in her plan was to get them to do it without being accompanied by any family members, and then, slowly, each on their own.

In regards to their physical health, too, clear progress was being made. They had all gained weight, and thanks to the frequent long walks were gradually regaining their fitness. And now they had gained this weight, Dr Cheung on one of his twice weekly visits had given them the all clear to start exercising again in preparation to take the FBI physical test. They would soon be attending the local gym and fitness centre, and once their fitness strengthened they would move on to training in the gym of the FBI field office in Atlanta, which was not only a first class facility, but the place where they would be tested. In fact the only bad news was in regards to Monica's fingers. Her left ring finger and little finger had never entirely healed, and remained clumsy, weak and quite numb. But Monica, Scully was pleased to see, coped extremely well with this and the devastation Scully had feared would come when she realised never in fact eventuated. It seemed that she knew that considering what they had been through, and the damage she had done to her arm, she had escaped very lightly.

With the six week barrier now cleared, Scully and the others had finally agreed to hand out the money to their relatives. Their decision to do this had remained firm, and as they were convinced they would never regret it, they had decided to do it before Charlie left for San Diego. The actual process for doing this had been Monica's invention. Scully would have been quite content to just hand out the cheques as people came and went, or just electronically transfer the whole lot in to nominated accounts, but Monica wanted to do it more personally, and on that note they agreed to invite all the recipients over for dinner. This has included flying Tara over from San Diego, leaving Matthew and Lizzie in the care of their Grandma and Grandpa Mackenzie.

They were all gathered in the living room, having finished the elaborate meal the survivors had made for them. The excuse they had given for the celebration had been that they had cleared the six week barrier. And while Scully thought that Tara must have found it a little strange to be summoned all the way from the West Coast to partake in one meal, she never questioned it to their faces and smiled and interacted with everyone looking genuinely thrilled to be there.

"That was an incredible meal, Monica," Carol said gratefully, returning from the kitchen and sitting down beside her husband David.

"I second that," Jenny said sweetly. "It was absolute perfection."

"Thank you," Monica said, all smiles as she had been the entire evening. "But it's not over yet. We have something else for you."

Christi tilted her head up from where she was sitting in Charlie's lap. "I'm not sure I could eat another thing," she said apologetically.

"It's not food," Scully said, stopping beside Monica and exchanging glances with John and Mulder.

Monica smiled and went to the dining table, pulling a pile of slips of paper from the middle of a psychiatry book she had hidden them in.

"You look like you're up to something," Jack said with a smile.

"We are," John said, resting his hands on the back of the couch and surveying their family with a twinkle in his eye. "There's a reason we invited you here tonight."

"I wondered when you were going to come clean," Deirdre said, setting her glass down on the coffee table with a look like she was enjoying herself immensely. "I knew you wouldn't leave out Sophie without a reason. Or Carol and David's family."

"Or Matthew and Lizzie," Mrs Scully added with a wide smile.

"Well it wasn't to offend them," Mulder said, looking slightly worried that it might have had this effect. "And we hope you'll understand why once we've shared what we have to say."

"Go ahead," Anne said, looking intensely curious.

Scully moved to stand with Monica, John and Mulder. They all looked at each other, smiling nervously.

Monica took the lead. "Well I guess this is really a thank you. It's been six weeks now, and we're actually all feeling quite well. It has been a very painful journey, for you as well as us, but it is due to all of you that we're coming through this. Your constant support - _never _ceasing, your love that you hold us with every day, and to the extent that you were even willing to throw in your jobs to support us."

Her eyes lingered on Christi and Deirdre. Both of them smiled.

"And to open your house," Scully went on, looking to Anne and Jack. "Not just to John and Monica, but to Mulder and I, to my mother and my brother ... I can't express how that feels. And to all of you. The way you have opened your hearts and lives to us, is truly something that none of us ever thought of in our most wishful dreams. And I don't even know if there's even a way of making it up to you, of showing our gratitude, but I hope you know that we do feel it. And we will every day for the remainder of our lives."

"Don't be silly," Anne said, with a touched smile. "It was, and is, an absolute pleasure. I feel like I went into this with two children and came out with six. We love having you here, and you're more than welcome to stay here for as long as you like."

Scully smiled through her tears. "And those things are exactly what we mean."

John nodded, tears in his eyes, too. "We're damn lucky to have you."

"And that's why we had to thank you," Mulder said. "When we did that TV interview six weeks ago we agreed between us that we weren't going to do anything with the money until we were feeling better. Six weeks was always the cautionary time laid down by our doctors. But even then we were one hundred percent sure of what we wanted to do with it. And part of that is to secure our own financial future, and to look after several charities we deeply believe in, but a large part of it, too, has always been you. To thank you, to look after you, and to spoil you. And that's why ..."

Monica grinned, and to an audience of absolutely stunned faces, she handed out the cheques. One each to Anne, Jack, Mrs Scully, Christi, Charlie, Bill, Tara and Deirdre, and one jointly to Jenny and Brian, and Carol and David. Each cheque was for the sum of 5.5 million, the profits Monica had already made on their investments causing their initial estimate to go up.

"Oh, Monica ..." Christi said, staring at the sum.

There was a moment in which everyone was lost for words. They stared at their cheques as though hallucinating, and then their eyes shot up to the survivors again.

"You can't be serious," Jack said.

"We are," Scully said firmly. "A thank you from us to you."

Anne looked enormously touched, but after a moment she folded the cheque and held it out for them to take. "Look, I didn't do this for money. I did it because I love you. I'm not accepting payment for looking after my own family."

"We're not taking no for an answer," John said flatly. "You can accept your cheques now, or we'll just electronically transfer it to your account tomorrow anyway."

"John, look," Carol said, sitting up. "I'm extremely touched, and it's not that I'm ungrateful, but I really don't feel I've done anything to deserve this..."

"Yes, you have," Monica corrected. "When we slipped away to Rhode Island you helped us spread the story to the media that we were down here. And it's not even about what people have done. It's a present because you're our family and we love you, and now we've had some good fortune we'd like to share it."

Christi smiled, tears in her eyes. Charlie looked completely lost for words, still in shock.

Scully saw everyone was rapidly giving in, their shock turning to tear-filled gratitude.

"But we do have one condition," Scully said, remembering this last part they had agreed on.

"What is it?" Brian asked.

"Don't let it change you," Monica said. "We hope you'll continue to be exactly who you are. Equal with the rest of society, kind-hearted and loving."

"And we don't want it blown completely on materialistic possessions," John said.

"Spoil yourselves, but don't make it vulgar," Mulder said.

"Spend it wisely," Scully added.

There was a pause.

Jenny smiled. "We'll spend it wisely. Sophie's been talking about wanting to go to an Art College in the city after she graduates. We'll use some of this for the fees."

"Good cause," John said sincerely.

Scully agreed. They had seen Sophie's drawings during their trip out to Jenny and Brian's house over a week ago. Sophie had been at school at the time, but they had flicked through her portfolios, and had been stunned by the talent they hadn't even known existed in their own family.

Mrs Scully got to her feet, and without a word, crossed to hug her. Scully smiled as she took her overwhelmed mother into her arms, kissing her on the cheek.

"You'll be able to fly to San Diego to see the kids whenever you like," Scully said through her own touched tears.

They pulled away, and Scully smiled at her mother's touched tears. "Dana, I don't know what to say..."

"Neither do I," Anne said, getting to her feet. "But I'll start with a thank you."

Beaming, she then gave Scully a tight hug and a kiss, then moving on to Monica, John and Mulder. The rest of their relatives finally recovered from their shock, too, also rising and rushing to hug them all, expressing their thanks, swearing that they wouldn't let it go to their heads.

It was a room full of hugs and kisses, and beaming wide smiles.

"Are you sure you have enough for yourselves?" Jack asked. "This is a lot of money all added up."

"More than enough," John assured him. "Don't worry."

The hugging continued, but when Scully at last reached Tara, she tugged on her hand.

"I'd like a word," she said quietly, indicating the privacy of the kitchen. "You as well," she added, as she moved past Christi and Charlie.

She caught the eyes of Monica, Mulder, and John, and they gave her the slightest nods, knowing what she was going to tell them. Leaving her friends to deal with the tidal waves of enthusiasm in the living room, Scully walked Tara, Charlie and Christi around the corner into the kitchen.

"What is it?" Christi asked.

"Before you tell us," Charlie said. "Tell me honestly. Do you really have enough left over to look after yourselves? That's 55 million dollars you've just handed out. I know you got paid well for the interview, but even so ..."

"We have far more than we'll ever need," Scully said honestly, though not wanting to name the figure. "It's so outrageous I'm not even going to admit to what we have."

This seemed to reassure him, though she could see he was wondering at how large the exact figure was.

"But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about," Scully said. "We have some more news for you, but we wanted to tell you in confidence."

"What is it?" Tara asked.

"We're holding five and a half million each for Matthew and Lizzie. And your new baby. It's for when they're older, to be handed over when they're mature enough."

Tara looked shocked. It was a moment before she recovered her voice. "Dana, you don't have to. You're already covering their education. And between Bill and I this is eleven million already. It's more than enough."

"They're my niece and nephew," Scully said. "It's already agreed. This is merely a forewarning."

Tara was already overwhelmed by the initial cheques, and this new information was too much. Tears of gratitude fell from her eyes, and Scully found her again in her arms, holding her. She smiled thinking Bill's reaction the next time he called and Tara broke the news. Though at the same time she thought that it was probably a good thing Bill was at sea. Had he been with them she was certain he would have been a lot more stubborn than the Doggetts in accepting the money.

"Um, Dana ..." Charlie said. "Not to sound rude or anything, but I don't quite follow why you needed us for this."

Scully smiled. "Because the same deal goes for any children the two of you might have. Five and a half million, handed over when they're mature adults. And that's in addition to any and all educational expenses."

Christi and Charlie stared, Christi's mouth slightly open.

"But there's a _strict _condition," Scully went on seriously, talking to all three of them again.

"Anything," Tara said.

"They're not to know," Scully said. "Monica's worried - and rightly, I think - about the effects all this might have on them. We want them to have a normal childhood, to grow up with all the right values. We don't want them growing up _expecting _to inherit the moment they turn eighteen."

"I agree," Charlie said quickly. "It wouldn't be particularly character-building."

"We'll give them a normal life," Tara promised. "I'd like to use a bit of this money to look after my parents, my sisters and their children. But we'll all keep it normal."

"I trust you completely," Scully said honestly. Tara was not the type who had expensive taste and sought trendy possessions. She was a natural mother, just loved having her children around, a good husband and family. Scully doubted whether eleven million in their account would corrupt either her or Bill. But it was better to be said. Monica's experience taught them that money sometimes did some rotten things to people, and Monica had wanted these conditions clear from the outset.

"Dana, I don't know how to thank you," Christi said. "Your words out there were enough, and then the money, and now this ..."

Scully smiled. "We're a family," she said simply. "We look after each other."

"All the way," Christi said with a smile.

XXX

"Can I have a word?"

In the waiting area of the Atlanta airport, Scully sat next to Mulder, watching as Jack pulled Charlie aside and walked with him to a quiet seating area over by the far windows. The dreaded day had finally arrived that Charlie had to rejoin the Navy, and the entire family had come to the airport to say goodbye. Christi sat in a blue seat with Anne's arm around her shoulders. She already had tears in her eyes, and Scully had never seen her looking more miserable.

"Oh, God, what's he doing?" she asked with dread, as she watched her father haul her fiancé away to the private corner.

"Warning him to come back, I expect," Anne said, rubbing her back.

"Oh my God," Christi said, cringing.

"You're still his little girl," Anne said. "He's just looking out for you."

"I know, but ..."

Christi drifted off, watching through teary eyes as the men talked.

"He'll come back," Scully said quietly.

"There's _no _doubt," Mrs Scully said, trying to remain positive.

"I know," Christi said. "I just can't help feeling that October is a long time away. He might feel very differently by then."

"You won't be completely out of touch," Monica reminded her. "You'll still hear from him all the time via phone and e-mail. He just can't be here."

"And he put a ring on your finger," John said. "It's a lifelong commitment. And we all know how he feels."

"Stay positive," Anne told her. "He'll come back and marry you as sure as I'm sitting here. And you know this is incredibly hard on him too. He doesn't want to go at all, but he signed that contract and he has no choice. You need to stay strong for him. And then he'll be back in October - he's already promised to move here - and you'll get married and have many, many years together."

Christi took a deep breath, and hearing Anne's words she tried to wipe away most of her tears.

Across the waiting lounge, Scully saw Charlie give Jack a firm handshake. Jack clapped him on the shoulder, and then leaving Charlie there, came back to join them.

"Why'd you leave him there?" John asked, puzzled. "Is he in exile?"

"He wants a word with you, Dana," Jack said.

Mulder rubbed her back as Scully got to her feet. She was not as bothered as everyone had expected her to be. She had definitely gotten close to Charlie over the past six weeks, yet she was used to saying goodbye to family members as they came in and out of port. Her entire childhood she had watched her father do this, and then later both Bill and Charlie. And it was through this experience that Scully was able to maintain her composure. For she knew, as Anne did, that this was hurting Charlie far more than it was Christi. Christi had a family around to support her. Charlie was leaving everyone and rejoining a life in which he felt he no longer belonged, and had been miserable in for many months even before Scully's plane crash had secured his temporary release.

"Hey," Scully said, taking a seat beside him. The seats faced some wide windows, and Scully looked out to see a plane slowly moving along a wet runway.

"Hey," Charlie said. His head was lowered, his cheeks already tear-stained.

Scully reached over and took his hand, moving it to her knee and holding it in both of hers.

"I can't believe this is happening," he said miserably, watching the plane continue to slowly move. "That's probably my plane. I have to be on it in less than half an hour."

"Better you than me," Scully said, still vividly recalling the plane crash.

Charlie smiled and squeezed her hand. "I'll be sure to map out the emergency exits."

"Make sure you do that."

She rubbed his hand. Charlie sighed miserably.

"I wish I could stay," he said softly. "I'd marry Christi tomorrow if I could. And to stay here with you, with everyone ..."

"I know," Scully said sadly. "I wish you could, too."

There was a pause. Scully watched as the plane disappeared around the corner.

"We've come a long way, Dana," he said, taking a deep breath and looking into her eyes with his identical blue ones. "In just these six weeks. Who would've thought it could ever be like this."

"Yes, we have," Scully agreed. It was incredible to think that only six weeks ago their relationship had consisted of an annual Christmas card. "And despite all the death and the heartache, a part of me is glad. And to be honest I'm not sure I'd take it back."

"Maybe we've both learned something about what's important in life. Maybe we were both going nowhere."

"Going in circles," Scully said. "Until we got on that plane in Canada."

There was another pause as Scully reflected on all that happened to her, the rapid changes that had occurred in her life. It was such a strange feeling, looking back on it all through hindsight.

"Dana, I need you to promise me something."

"Anything," Scully said.

"Tell me you'll look after Christi for me," he said. "Never let her doubt how much I love her."

"She'll never doubt it," Scully assured him. "And I hope that you don't doubt her love for you, either."

"I don't," Charlie said, glancing over his shoulder to where their families were sitting. "It's just going to be so hard."

"I'll look after her," Scully promised. "You just worry about you. Just get through these few months, and come back here safely."

Charlie sighed again, running one hand wearily through his short red hair. "I wish I didn't have to go."

"You'll be fine," Scully said, rubbing his hand against her knee. "You're a Scully. We're not quitters."

"I know," he said with a smile. "I'm the son of Captain Scully, the brother of Dana Scully ... I've got a lot to live up to."

Scully smiled. "You've just got to get back here safely."

"Promise me you'll look after yourself as well," Charlie said. "You've come so far, done so well, I'd hate to see you slip."

"I'll be fine," Scully said. "I have everyone here. And things are going well."

"When you get your FBI badge back, pass that physical, make sure you take Doctor Cheung with you when you attempt the first autopsy. Don't get overconfident."

Scully almost laughed. "If it makes you feel better I'll assure you right now that it's going to feel like hell. But I will have Doctor Cheung with me. And I'll have everyone else waiting outside. And because of that I know I'll make it. And I'll get back my career."

"You can't miss," he said, pride in his eyes.

Scully squeezed his hand in thanks.

"Well I'd better say goodbye to Christi," Charlie said, glancing again over his shoulder. "Just take care of yourself, Dana."

Scully leaned over and shared a hug with him, kissing each other on the cheek.

"I love you," she said, for the first time in her life.

She could feel him smile as he held her even tighter. "I love you too."

And it was ten minutes later, after Charlie had shared a long, very emotional goodbye with Christi - both of them in tears and holding each other for all they were worth - that Charlie finally left for San Diego. The second he disappeared from view, Anne took Christi in her arms, and Scully felt Mulder's arms loop around her, holding her close.

"Are you okay?" he rumbled in her ear.

Scully leaned into his embrace.

"This sucks, Mulder."

He laughed. "Is that the official Dr Dana Scully analysis of the situation?"

"No, that's the analysis of Dana - the fool who took 37 years to realise she had such an amazing brother."

"Stay strong Scully," he said, kissing her temple and holding her tight. "It's all going to work out."

XXX

"Keep going, Dana," Monica encouraged, sitting on Scully's ankles as she passed thirty sit-ups.

They were in the gymnasium of the Atlanta field office, rounding off preparations for the FBI physical that would allow them to get their badges and guns back. They were progressing quite well and Scully knew they could take the test now and pass, except Scully did not want to simply pass. She was determined to pass it as well as she had before the accident, when she had fallen into the top tier for female physical fitness. Mulder and John had the same ambition - Mulder currently practicing his short distance sprints while Christi timed him with a stopwatch, and John doing chin-ups on a nearby bar. The remainder of their relatives - Anne, Jack, Deirdre and Mrs Scully - had settled themselves on some benches against the wall, watching.

"You're doing great, Agent Scully!" a male agent said as he walked past.

This was another reason why Scully preferred the FBI gym to a normal local one. She felt herself in the midst of a powerful comradeship now. It was as if she was a symbol of the FBI, its people and its ability to recover from this tragedy. Every agent who walked past was encouraging, hoping the four of them would recover as much as she did herself. And that was another why she wanted to do more than simply scrape through on this test.

"I think that's enough," Scully said, finally collapsing back on the blue mat, catching her breath.

"If there had been an instructor here you would've passed with flying colours," Monica said, beaming.

"It's not good enough," Scully said, annoyed with herself. "I did a lot more than that when I did my refresher two years ago. I think I'm getting old."

"You're looking great," Monica said dismissively.

Scully eyed Monica's enthusiasm beaming down at her and smiled. The truth was that Monica was looking incredible, too. She was still thinner than she had previously been, but it was no longer unhealthy, and she looked more like a model now. And it seemed that Monica was pleased by this, too, if the fact that she had graduated from a loose old Academy t-shirt to an adidas sports bra and lycra shorts were any indication. The look on John's face when she had sauntered out of the changing rooms had been priceless, and Scully knew that Monica was getting a lot of enjoyment out of teasing him - the result of which Scully thought was the determined chin-ups John was doing now, going on and on like a machine. It was hard to tell which of them was admiring the other more.

"Your turn," Scully said, pushing herself up and rearranging themselves so she was now holding Monica's ankles instead.

"Let me," John said, rejoining them, dripping in sweat but looking delighted with himself.

Scully shifted aside, letting John take her place on Monica's ankles. She watched ominously as Monica grinned up at him, as John smiled back, clearly still in full appreciation of Monica's skimpy outfit. Scully glanced up at the far end of the gym again, and found Mulder had stopped his sprints, was standing with Christi and drinking from a red sports drink. They made eye contact with her, and then began to make their way over.

Scully turned her attention back to her friends just as Monica completed her first sit up. But instead of rising halfway and going down again, she sat up all the way, took a handful of the front of John's t-shirt and kissed him.

Christi laughed as her and Mulder joined them. "Somehow I think you missed the whole point. You're supposed to go back down again."

"Oh, I will," Monica said, grinning at John so her words carried an unmissable sexual undertone.

"Monica ..." Scully said, willing her to control herself.

Grinning triumphantly at the look on John's face, Monica lowered herself to the floor again.

"Count for me," she told John, resuming her seriousness.

"I'll be back in a sec," Christi said, turning to head for the female change rooms.

"One, two, three ..."

John counted as Monica began her sit-ups. Scully got her feet and made her way over to the bar John had just left.

"You need a lift?" Mulder asked, stepping up behind her and putting his hands on her waist.

"Yeah," Scully said.

He lifted her up and Scully grabbed the metal bar. She adjusted her position, hanging there for a moment, and then slowly raised herself up to the bar, immediately feeling the pressure in her arms.

Mulder stood watching. "You haven't told us how your book's going."

"It's coming along," Scully said, steadily keeping going. "It's taking a little longer than I'd anticipated, but I want to get it right."

"Well there's no reason to hurry," Mulder agreed.

"I'd also like to get back my medical career before I seal it off," Scully added. "Every story needs an ending."

Mulder nodded, understanding this perfectly. "Are you going to set a date for the autopsy? Once we pass the physical?"

"Yes," Scully said, feeling a little nervous at how close this moment was getting. "The next time Dr Cheung's down."

Mulder nodded again, and then fell quiet, his eyes looking around the gym. Monica was still doing sit-ups on the floor while John had hit a count of 38. Deirdre, Anne, Mrs Scully and Jack were all engaged in a conversation, laughing with each other. Scully pushed on with her chin-ups, though her arms became increasingly sore. But as a few more moments ticked on, Scully saw that Mulder's eyes were not scanning idly, but as though something was wrong.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"Keeping an eye out for Christi," he replied.

Scully glanced at the changing room door, but it remained closed. Christi was apparently still in there. But it had been several minutes now. Surely she should have come back. It was not like there would be a queue, with the overwhelming majority of agents around the gym being male.

Scully was at last exhausted, and she dropped back down to the mat, hands on her hips.

"You don't suppose they upset her," Scully said quietly, indicating Monica and John's intimacy.

"Well we know she's hurting," Mulder ventured.

This was true, although Christi was doing quite a good job of not showing it. She was as enthusiastic, light-hearted and committed to their care as ever. And it helped, too, that Charlie was calling regularly, and the two had long, private conversations, Christi often shut in an upstairs bedroom.

"I'll check on her," Scully volunteered, and after briefly squeezing Mulder's hand, headed for the changing rooms.

When she entered she found that the rooms, toilets and showers were all empty except for Christi sitting on a far bench, her head in her hands.

"Are you all right?" Scully asked kindly, approaching her.

Christi looked up, and in that moment Scully saw that Christi was not all right. But it was not heartache for Charlie, either. She looked distinctly sick. She was pale, and looked slightly dizzy.

"You don't look well," Scully said, sitting down beside her and reaching for her wrist to take a pulse. Christi leaned her head back against the brick wall behind her.

"I think I've picked up Georgia's bug," Christi said. "She had it when we went out the other night. I must've caught it from her."

"Well you look faint," Scully said, observing her symptoms. "And your pulse is weak. Do you feel nauseous at all? Have you had a temperature?"

She felt Christi's forehead. She was slightly warm, but it was not alarming.

"Yeah I feel like I'm gonna be sick," Christi said, taking a deep breath. "But it's not like I actually throw up."

Scully nodded, but she felt her nerves stand on end as a suspicion shot into her mind.

"And have you felt this consistently since you saw Georgia, or has it been intermittent?"

"I guess it comes and goes," Christi said. "I don't know. It's weird. One second I feel fine and then now ... maybe I just didn't have enough for breakfast. And then to be on my feet so long ..."

"Have you had any change in appetite?" Scully asked. Her symptoms did not sound like a traditional stomach bug. It was unlikely that such a bug would come and go at its leisure.

"It's a little lowered I guess," Christi said, sounding unsure.

"And on the whole when would you say these symptoms occur? Mornings, afternoons, evenings, at night...?"

"I don't know," Christi said, shaking her head. "Mornings, I guess. I'm not sure."

Scully paused, taking a deep breath. Her thoughts went to Charlie, who had rejoined his ship out off the coast of Australia, doing training exercises.

"When you were with Charlie," Scully said carefully, "did you use any protection?"

In a flash Christi's eyes opened fully, suddenly alert.

"You're not thinking I'm pregnant?" Christi asked.

Scully waited.

"I can't be," Christi said, but she sounded as if she was trying to convince herself. "He was a gentleman, we made sure. We used condoms."

"And did you use them in conjunction with anything else?" Scully asked. "The pill?"

"No, I -"

She broke off, still in shock.

Scully took her hand and gave it a squeeze. "Well you know they aren't a hundred percent effective. And it only takes one."

"Dana, I can't be pregnant," Christi said, worried now. "He's not back till October."

"When did you last menstruate?" Scully asked. "Have you had it since he's been gone?"

Christi thought. Then she looked shakily into Scully's eyes and said, "No ... and not for a while ..."

Scully nodded and gave her hand another squeeze. "Don't panic. We'll drop in somewhere on the way home, pick up a test."

At that moment the door opened again, and Anne, Mrs Scully and Deirdre sailed in.

"Are you two okay?" Deirdre asked, coming around the corner.

They all stopped when they saw Christi, and Scully holding her hand.

"Oh my God," Anne said, and hurried forward, sitting down beside her and clamping a hand to her forehead.

Christi pushed her hand back.

"Mom, don't. I'm okay."

"You certainly don't look it," Mrs Scully said, looking concerned.

"Why didn't you tell us you were feeling sick?" Anne asked.

"I'm not sick," Christi repeated. Then she took a deep, nervous breath. "Dana thinks I might be pregnant."

XXX

"Just relax," Anne said, her arm around her daughter and beaming as if all her Christmases had come at once.

Everyone else in the changing rooms was just as enthusiastic. Scully saw her own mother had not stopped smiling since Christi spoke the suspected diagnosis, and after having four children of her own and looking into Christi's eyes she declared that she was one hundred percent, without doubt pregnant, and even estimated the duration to be at around five weeks. Monica, too, sitting on an opposite bench, was all broad smiles. Deirdre was calm. She had hidden beside her the pregnancy test that she had rushed out to buy for them - everyone so eager and not at all willing to wait until they were back home - and now she kept it hidden as they waited the set duration for the outcome.

Scully had not had a chance to see how Jack, Mulder and John were reacting, having stuck to her promise to Charlie and being committed to looking after Christi, but she imagined that John at least, would be extremely anxious and was probably pacing as they waited.

The good news was that everyone's overwhelming excitement had lifted Christi's mood, and the anxiety-induced shock had disappeared into a nervous smile. Scully was holding her hand and could feel it trembling.

"You have nothing to worry about," Scully assured her. "If it's positive, it'll be good news. And Charlie will be over the moon."

"He'll make a great father," Monica said.

"I doubt he'll be over the moon," Christi said nervously. "He was so careful. And now he hates being away enough as it is. If he finds out I'm pregnant it's going to be hell for him. He'll miss the whole thing. He might even miss the birth. I'd probably be due around October. If it happened before he got back ..."

"If it happens before he gets back, it'll still be okay," Anne said. "You'll have all of us with you. And he'll still be back in plenty of time to change diapers, help with feeding, and love you both. Just relax."

"We'd have to postpone our wedding plans," Christi said. "And cancel my trip to Europe with Georgia this summer, too ..."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Anne said calmly. "Just relax."

Christi made an effort to calm, and the hand Scully held stopped most of its trembling and the nervous smile appeared back on her lips. Scully knew she was delighted, yet the factor of Charlie being away and the two of them being unmarried made her anxious.

Deirdre pulled the test of its hiding place and looked at it.

"What's it say?" Scully asked anxiously.

Deirdre smiled. She looked up at Christi.

"Are you ready to know?"

"Just tell me," Christi said, looking like she couldn't stand the suspense any longer.

"Positive," Deirdre said, holding out the test for her to take. "You're going to have a baby."

There were shrieks of delight from every direction and it was a rush to see who could hug Christi first. Christi had her hands over her mouth, in complete disbelief, and utter elation. Monica headed for the door to give the men the news.

"We'll have to get you a doctor's appointment," Mrs Scully said.

Christi's smile faltered. "He will be glad, won't he?"

"Yes," Scully said firmly. "Don't worry."

Christi smiled again, flying through emotions at a hundred miles an hour. She held a hand to her abdomen.

"My God, I'm pregnant ..."

"Well I think one thing's for sure," Deirdre said with a smile. "This child is going to be the most spoilt child in history."

XXX

It was several days later when Christi broke the news to Charlie. She had first gone to the doctor to receive official confirmation, which had come two days later, and got other details she knew Charlie would want to know, amongst which was her due date of November 3rd. This date had calmed Christi's nerves, as Charlie's last day with the Navy was October 10, and so he was very likely to be back in time to participate in both the final few weeks of her pregnancy and also the birth.

She broke the news during his scheduled phone call, and disappeared upstairs with her cell phone to break the news in private. Scully waited in the living room with everyone else, exchanging nervous looks, wondering as time went on how Charlie was reacting. Scully knew he had wanted children with Christi, but this was certainly not quite how they had planned it. He had no doubt planned it to occur the traditional way, including a wedding, moving in with Christi, and then children after that. But knowing her brother extremely well, she was sure that once he got over the initial shock, he would be overjoyed, and the fact that he could be at least present for the birth would be comforting for him.

"I wonder how he's taking it," Monica said, as they waited on the sofas.

"He'll be fine," Scully said confidently, thinking also that the fact that there was no noise from upstairs was a good sign. But it had been nigh on half an hour now, and it was getting hard to stand the suspense.

"How did you take it?" Monica asked John. "When Barbara told you?"

"Luke was planned," John said with a shrug. "We were all thrilled."

"I remember when I told you," Anne said, with a grin at Jack.

"How did you react?" Monica asked curiously.

"He was petrified," Deirdre said, with a reminiscent smile. "Our father nearly killed him."

"We were both petrified," Anne corrected. "I was still only seventeen. But it all worked out. Jack was supportive, and I had a couple of very supportive sisters and a great mother. I walked up the aisle when I was eighteen, six months pregnant. And we've been incredibly happy."

She grinned affectionately at John. He took her hand as she walked past.

"I can't wait to have a baby," Monica said, smiling dreamily at John.

It was open knowledge now that Monica and John both wanted children and Christi's pregnancy had amplified this desire. John had his arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze.

"Your time will come," Mrs Scully said.

"Only make sure you get married first," Jack said. "At least one of us in the family should do things the right way around."

"We're not ready anyway," John said. "A child needs a place to live. A stable environment. Our lives at the moment don't quite fit that bill."

"A child only needs love," Anne said. "And we can all provide that in abundance."

"You'd need a place to live," Mulder pointed out.

"We could always extend here," Anne said. "It's not like we can't afford it."

"We could buy out the neighbours," Scully suggested. "Then you could live right next door, between here and Christi."

"What do you mean 'you'?" Monica demanded. "If we go anywhere, you're coming with us. We're not separating."

Scully smiled, quite touched. "No, we're not."

"Anyhow, we've gotta sort out what we're doing about our places in DC first," John pointed out.

"I've been thinking about that," Monica said. "I think we should retain ownership and rent them out. It's a sought after area and I think it's time we started moving into the property market. We could probably even do it through the FBI, you know there are agents moving in and out of Washington all the time."

"We'd still need a place to live down here," Mulder pointed out. "Somewhere to put all our furniture, set up base."

"Then maybe we should -"

But she broke off as they all spotted Christi coming down the stairs. She held her pink cell phone to her ear, and was smiling as though she was on top of the world.

"You can't have Charlie as a girl's name," Christi said with a grin. "Besides, he or she needs a name of their own. Not an inherited identity." There was a pause, and then she laughed. "No, that's no better."

She arrived at the bottom of the stairs and walked across to where they were all sitting.

"Okay, I've got Dana here," Christi said. "Do you want me to put her on?" There was another pause. "Okay. Yeah, I will. It's all going to be fine. I love you, too."

She smiled for one last moment and then held out the phone for Scully.

"He wants a word."

Scully took the phone. "Hi."

"Dana, I need you to go somewhere private."

Immediately worried by the seriousness in his tone, Scully got straight up and headed for the sliding door, walking out to quiet of the pool area and back garden.

"Okay, I'm alone," she assured him.

"All right, I only have a minute left so I need you to listen carefully. First of all, thank you so much for taking care of her, for recognising it and going to the doctor with her ... I'm really grateful."

"You don't need to thank me," Scully said, not liking how he made it sound like a chore.

But he barely heard her. "I need you to keep looking after her for me, for as long as you're in Atlanta. I want you to go to any medical appointments with her, make sure her and the baby are okay. And if they're not, if she miscarries, or something goes wrong ... take good care of her."

"I will," Scully promised.

"And you'll go with her to the scans, when she sees the baby on screen? I want you to be there on my behalf."

"I'll be there," Scully said. "And you know these days they give out DVDs. We'll be able to put it on the computer and e-mail you a picture. I'll even label everything for you."

"Oh, thank you, Dana," Charlie said, voice filled with emotion. "I knew I could count on you. You know I wish with all my heart I could be there, but as I can't ... I still want to stay as involved as I can. Christi's promised to send photos, you know so I can watch her stomach getting bigger, a bit of a photo log. And I want you to keep me informed of everything. Any sickness, any cravings, anything and everything, I want to hear about it."

"You won't miss a thing," Scully said sincerely. "We'll all make sure of that. We'll flood you with reports and photos."

"That'd be so great, Dana," Charlie said. "It'd make being stuck out here so much easier. And I need you to take care of anything they might need too. Anything Christi needs, anything the baby needs, anything for a nursery or maternity clothes or baby clothes ... just get it, keep a record of what you spend and I'll pay you back every cent when I get back."

"We have it covered," Scully assured him. "Don't worry about it, money isn't a concern."

"And if she goes into labour prematurely," Charlie said, "I want you to be there."

On this one Scully hesitated. "I think she'd want her mother with her."

"Then Anne as well," Charlie said. "Just be there. As a doctor, as my sister, as the child's aunt. Just get her through it, make sure nothing goes wrong."

"I will," Scully said. "But I wouldn't worry about that. I'm sure you'll be back in plenty of time."

"I hope so," Charlie said.

There was a slight pause as he seemed to finally run out of instructions.

"Tell me how you're feeling," Scully said. "Are you really okay?"

"I don't know how I'm feeling," Charlie said. "I just can't believe it, I feel like I'm in a dream. To think that I'm actually going to be a father, to have a child with Christi ... my God, it's incredible. It'll be like having a little Matthew or Lizzie of my own. If I could run on water I'd be leaping overboard and heading to Sydney right now so I can fly back."

"I don't think deserting and getting yourself thrown in jail will be of any great help," Scully said firmly. "Just stay put. Stay calm. And don't worry about a thing. We're all here to take care of things, and we'll send you regular reports. You won't miss a thing."

"Thank you, Dana," Charlie said. "Well look, I'd better go. I've been on here too long as it is, and I still have to make another call. One of my friends here has a number for flowers, I'm going to send some around to her house, and maybe a bear or something ..."

"Okay," Scully said. "Take care."

"Can you put Christi back on for one last second?" Charlie pleaded. "I want to say another goodbye."

"Not a problem," Scully said, turning and heading back to the sliding door, which she opened and then walked inside to where Christi was sitting, beaming, under Jack's paternal arm. "He wants to say goodbye."

She passed Christi the phone and Christi melted as she took it.

"Hey," she said sweetly.

"Is everything okay?" Monica asked quietly, looking concerned and almost mouthing the words.

"It's fine," Scully said.

"What's he doing, giving you some last minute instructions?" Mulder asked with a smile.

"He is the son of a Navy Captain," John pointed out.

"Yes," Scully said with a smile. "Not that he needed to."

She smiled at John, and knew he understood. It felt strange when she thought about it - absolutely bizarre that not only had their siblings fallen in love and gotten engaged, but were now having a baby that was the biological niece or nephew of both her and John. It was the child of two very powerful, very wealthy families, and one that Scully would lay down her own life for.

* * *


	36. Chapter 36

**_Chapter 67 - Relapse & Revelation_**

"You did well, Dana," Jack said, his large hand patting her briefly on the back as Scully rejoined them, being the first to finish the round of physical tests in the gymnasium of the FBI Atlanta field office.

Trying to catch her breath from her 1.5 mile run, Scully sat onto the wooden bench beside her mother and gratefully took the bottle of cold water she was offered. The round of testing had been a little harder than she had expected. Of course, the doctors had said that what they had been through had effectively aged them at least ten years, and she clung to this fact as she mourned the results she had achieved in previous years, when she had fallen into the highest fitness bracket. But nevertheless, she could not help feeling disappointed as she watched the others complete their own testing; Mulder now on the 1.5 mile run, John pelting through his push-ups, and Monica at the beginning on sit-ups. It was of some comfort that the others were also lacking their former fitness.

"You look disappointed," Mrs Scully said, rubbing her back.

"I should have done better," Scully said.

She saw her mother smile knowingly to herself. Scully knew this line amused her as her life motto, from when Scully was in tenth grade and came home in tears for the A she had received on her science test instead of her desired A+; to the time she had applied for medicine and spent weeks in an intense paranoia that her near perfect marks were not quite perfect enough.

"You're too hard on yourself," Christi said, from where she was sitting beside Anne with her hand on her abdomen, as it so often was these days. It was as if she still couldn't believe she was pregnant.

"I'm sure you passed fine," Deirdre said confidently. "And as you're not planning on doing field work I honestly can't see why it matters."

That was true too, and Scully tried to settle her feelings on the matter as she watched the others complete their testing. A few minutes later, Mulder joined them from his run, collapsing on the bench beside her and gulping down half the water as he sweated from head to toe. Scully put her hand on his bare knee, knowing he felt the same frustration as she did. Minutes later, they were finally joined by John and Monica, John standing with his hands on his knees, looking absolutely exhausted, and Monica ambling straight for the bench and looking like she could faint before she reached it.

"You did great," Anne said encouragingly.

But at that moment the double doors to the gymnasium opened and Jana Cassidy marched in with Doctor Cheung. It was still early morning, as they had arrived well before most employees arrived for the day, and so the gym was still quite empty. But the two keen agents who had been training on treadmills looked up sharply as they saw the Director of the FBI walking into their gym. Jana smiled at them as she hurried past with the doctor, but she did not head to where Scully and everyone sat, but instead for the three instructors who had timed them on the various components.

"Judgement Day," Mulder said quietly.

Scully felt the same alertness. She had never expected Jana to make a personal appearance. Now she was Director, she was simply far too busy - or she should have been. As far as they had known, they were to be physically tested like any other agent, and that was it. But as she watched as Jana took the scoring sheets and perused them with interest, talking quietly with Doctor Cheung and the instructors, Scully felt that this was not going to be the case.

"What's the hell's she doing here?" John said darkly.

"Don't talk like that," Jack said. "You should be very grateful after what she's done for you."

John nodded off the statement, but Scully knew what he meant. It was not ungratefulness, as the four of them knew very well everything Jana had done for them, and they would repay her in an instant if they could. But the fact remained that she was the Director of the FBI, and that she had undoubtedly not flown down solely to admire their test scores, which could have been otherwise sent to her directly by any one of the thirty thousand employees under her command. This many years in the X-Files battling the conspiring egos in the top of the command chain had given the four of them a fine-tuned sense of suspicion.

The instructors parted, gathering their things, and Jana said something to the Doctor, who nodded, and then the two finally made their way over.

"Well congratulations," Jana said with a professional smile. "You've all done phenomenally well."

"It's very impressive," Doctor Cheung said. "The speed with which the four of you have recovered is astounding. Far better than we expected."

"Well they've been training hard," Mrs Scully said proudly. "Dana's been anxious to start work again."

"Yes, I've heard," Jana said with a smile. "And on the basis of these figures I think we're more than happy to give you back your badge and gun."

For a moment Scully wondered if she'd heard correctly. Perhaps she had been overreacting in thinking Jana had a hidden agenda. It was a sad product of her years on the X-Files that she saw danger in everyone in authority - even when none existed. And especially in a friend like Jana. It was an unusual feeling to be all on the same side again.

"Thank you," Scully said gratefully, feeling relieved.

"And us?" John asked.

"All of you," Jana confirmed. "I have your things upstairs, along with some minor paperwork I need you to sign. Why don't the four of you get changed and then we'll head up there."

Five minutes later they were back in their casual clothes and after enduring an elevator ride of staring agents arriving for work, they arrived at SAC Pearson's spacious office overlooking a clear morning in Atlanta.

"I need to ask you to wait here," Jana said apologetically to their relatives in the outer office. "We won't be a minute."

Understanding, their relatives sat themselves down and Scully headed into the inner office with Jana, Doctor Cheung, John, Monica and Mulder.

"Sit down," Jana said, waving them to spare seats at the table. In the space where Jana sat were four guns and their FBI identification badges.

"So how's life at the top?" John asked, sitting down beside Monica.

"Hectic," Jana said. "It's a marathon of meetings at the moment. I'm averaging twelve a day - all budgets, forecasts and press statements - I think I'm having an Excel overdose. But we've at last finalised our organisational structure, filled all the vacant positions, so things should start to ease up again soon. I'm actually down here on a case at the moment. I'm just dropping in on my way through. You've heard of the killings in Savannah?"

"No," Monica admitted awkwardly. "We haven't really been following the news."

"That's understandable," Doctor Cheung said. "You do still feature regularly."

"These killings must be pretty bad," Mulder said thoughtfully. "To warrant your personal attention."

"Yes, they are," Jana said with a sigh. "We're getting more and more deaths and we're still no closer to finding the perpetrator. The FBI is getting a lot of criticism from the media and it's getting worse all the time. When I left DC I was suffering from a 'lack of funding', and when I landed here in Atlanta I was 'not up for the job'."

Scully sighed, feeling a rush of frustrated sympathy.

"In fact I had hoped you wouldn't mind taking a look," Jana said, clicking her briefcase open and withdrawing a thick folder held together by a straining elastic band. "Maybe you'll see something we don't."

Mulder took the folder with interest, and Scully eyed it with him as he opened it. At once they were faced with a sheet of colour photos. They showed three separate victims, who looked like they had faced a brutal death. They had blood all over their torsos, and their eyes were opened in expressions of frozen terror. Scully's stomach jolted unpleasantly, as the bodies instantly resembled the line of colleagues in the bloody snow on the mountain. Their insides spilling out of their stomach wounds, the endless pools of blood and soaked clothing, and then herself a few days later as she had cut into those same bodies in order to preserve her own. The victims in the case and on the mountain shared the identical expression of an undeserving person being exposed to the most brutal horror, and all her medical training suddenly left her as she could do nothing but stare, her lungs suddenly empty.

"Oh ..." Mulder gulped, and Scully sensed him look away.

It was her fear that he was going to be sick that caused Scully to finally break her gaze from the photos, and she looked up to see that his face was white, and he was trying to look anywhere but at the photos in front of him. On the other side of Mulder sat John, who also had his eyes wet eyes averted, and then Monica, who was completely white, and stared up at Jana in blank horror.

Scully followed her gaze, and found Jana looking at them with a calculating expression. She had been studying their every reaction, and Scully knew then that they had been set up.

"I need to ask," Jana said slowly. "Do you think you are psychologically ready to resume work?"

And still Monica stared. Her eyes flicked to the photos in front of Mulder, and in a flash a hand flew to her mouth and she leapt up from her seat, hurrying for the door.

Doctor Cheung leapt up from his seat. "Stay there," he ordered the three of them. "I'll look after her."

John's wide, upset eyes found Jana's. "You did that deliberately?"

There was a clear note of accusation in his voice, but Jana remained calm and professional.

"Perhaps I did," Jana said. "Because as your Director, and as your friend, I thought it plain commonsense to check your mental readiness before dropping you back unprotected into the Bureau. You know these cases come up. And if it hadn't been a murder that reminded you of what you saw up there, it would've only been a suicide, a victim of assault, or any one of another thousand cases we get everyday which anyone in the Bureau might ask your opinion on at anytime. And once you're back in we can't really protect you every moment of every day. You won't have your families with you on the job, you won't have me around to filter everything that reaches you, you might not even have each other. Now call me unreasonable if you like, John, but I thought it far preferable to get things into the open now rather than to let you blindly sign that medical declaration and take back your gun, only to witness Monica use her own to commit suicide in a few months' time."

Scully's stomach clenched as she knew Jana was right. It was not far-fetched to think Monica might yet try again to commit suicide. It would only take one weak moment, the slightest relapse, and giving her back her gun would make it foolishly easy. And Jana would have been the ultimate fool to give it to her without checking first.

"You're right," Scully said quietly to her.

John's anger had evaporated, and Scully could see the vision of Monica suicidal again playing through his mind. Tears were still in his eyes.

Eventually he shook his head and with a great heaviness, pushed himself to his feet.

"Monica and I are gonna stay on leave a while longer."

Jana nodded. "I think that might be best. Keep up your regular counselling. We'll see how you feel in another two to three months."

John nodded, but looking slightly defeated, headed silently for the door.

"And Agent Doggett," Jana said, and he looked around. "Don't let this get you down. We weren't lying when we said we think you're doing astonishingly well. It's just that we want to make sure you don't slip."

"Thanks," John said, nodding awkwardly, but nevertheless looking slightly better.

He left the room, closing the door behind them.

Jana looked up at Scully and Mulder. "How do you both feel?"

Scully sighed. The last few minutes had not been pleasant, but neither did she want to give up. She had to expect these hurdles. It was never going to be easy, and the only thing to do was to face these problems and tackle them. Monica and John were not yet ready, but that was okay as Scully had known all along that their hearts had not been in it. They had taken the test solely to support her own career desires, and in a way Scully was grateful that Jana had seen through them. It was not for nothing that she had risen through the ranks to become Director. But while John and Monica needed further time off to evaluate what they wanted to do, Scully still felt determined to try. She took a deep breath and pulled the photos toward her, now studying them with a medical eye and shutting off the memories they provoked.

"It's not a usual method," Scully said, studying the bloody wounds. "I see no sign of stabbing, as though by a knife, but neither was this done with a blunt object, the way the skin has been torn, and with this amount of blood loss. But without an autopsy I can't tell you for sure how it was done. I'd need a closer look."

Mulder took the file, flicking past the photos and to the police reports. "All three victims walking alone late at night, all within the same five mile radius. Two college students, one late night waitress. Reports of their activity in the preceding 24 hours are inconsistent. It appears like random attacks at first glance, and yet in these city blocks it must have happened fast to go undetected. No witnesses, no reports of screaming ..." He paused as he scanned the reports. 

"On this evidence I'd be searching for someone you'd ordinarily overlook. Someone who wouldn't look dangerous, who you might even expect to be out and about in these night hours, who probably even does it regularly, or perhaps for a living. It's a person a twenty year old girl would feel safe in walking past in the middle of the night. I'd be looking to see who works these hours in these city blocks, any shops or cafes that might be open, anyone who might do night study at the college, or who works late at the college. You'll probably find that's where they initially spotted the victims before tracking them down later. I'd be looking for someone in uniform, whose professionalism or look of belonging would shield a darker agenda. Either way, I'd pull lists of all night employees and do a stakeout on the college grounds. You might even look into planting a young female agent who fits this profile."

Jana gave him an appraising look. "Have you ever considered going back into profiling?"

"I don't know," Mulder said, speaking automatically as he continued to flick through police reports, fully curious now. "But if you give me my badge, I'll give you a free hint."

Jana held back a smile. "Give me your hint, and we'll negotiate your badge."

Scully watched, impressed by Mulder's insight and his profiling talent he rarely displayed. He continued to flick through the folder, concentrating hard, mind whirring as he sped read through the contents. He looked more and more sure of himself with every page he turned.

"Tell me what you're going to do for Agent Scully and I'll tell you who it is," he said, flicking through maps of the college and the student records of the victims.

"I already have the third victim cooling off at the morgue," Jana said, looking to Scully. "I'm aware you'd like to resurrect your career as a doctor, and as a scientist, and if you're still interested Doctor Cheung and I will both accompany you to try an autopsy on the body."

"I'm ready and willing," Scully said, quashing her anxiety and letting Mulder's strength fuel her own.

Jana looked back to Mulder.

"My money's on a campus security guard," Mulder said, closing the folder and handing it back to her. "I'd take a look at the night shift rosters, see who patrols the grounds during these hours."

"Someone a young student would never suspect," Jana repeated, looking at a photo of one of the girls. "I'll get someone onto it."

Jana shut the folder and put it aside. She grabbed two badges from the pile of four and held them in her hands.

"I'm willing to ease you back in. I think it would be best if we keep it as part time hours to begin with - perhaps one or two mornings a week - supported by ongoing counselling. Agent Mulder, I'll put you in as a profiler, Agent Scully, as a scientist, and perhaps a forensic pathologist, depending on how you go with us later. I'll make sure you get desks here, and side by side so you can support each other. You'll get your work through SAC Pearson. And he's a good man, he'll give you every support. In fact with your expertise I think he'll be thrilled to have you on board."

"Thank you," Scully said. It was a strange feeling to be welcomed with open arms again by her superiors. It was almost as if she was back emerging from the Academy, when they had scanned her qualifications and peered up at her over their glasses with keen interest.

"Make it one morning a week to begin with," Mulder said. "We'll build it up from there."

"Done," Jana said. "And that just leaves the question of your weapons."

On this, Scully hesitated. She herself had no intention of using a gun to commit suicide, and knew that Mulder didn't either. But they did still live with Monica and John, and it was still plausible that Monica could do it, given that she had already attempted suicide once as it was.

"Keep them a little longer," Scully said. "As long as we're working only from this office they're more of a risk than an aid."

"Okay," Jana said. "But if you ever need to leave this office to view something in the field, I want you to notify SAC Pearson and take one with you. I'm not having agents out there unprotected."

Scully nodded.

"Are we agreed?" Jana asked.

"Agreed," Mulder said, taking his badge as she passed them out.

"All right," Jana said. "Then I want you both to take a brief break. Go be with your friends and families, perhaps get something to eat. And then, Agent Scully, I'd like you to come with me and Doctor Cheung to the morgue, and we'll try this autopsy."

Scully nodded again. She felt nervous, and not only for the autopsy but how Monica and John were doing, and how they would take this news that her and Mulder were back at work part time. It made part of her feel sad, as up until now they had been all together, and now they were finally addressing each of their own unique needs, and Scully also had the heavy feeling that she was saying an eternal goodbye to having John and Monica as colleagues. But she had to recover her career to find happiness, and Mulder would walk the path with her. And John and Monica were part of their family now. They would still live together, still support each other, and somehow pull through.

XXX

"Can we come in?"

Monica had her head around the door of the small locker room off the morgue corridor, where the doctors changed from their clothes into their medical scrubs. Scully stood there dressed in the blue cloth now, her previous clothes stacked in a neat pile on the bench. As Monica, John and Mulder entered, she turned and sat down on the bench. Mulder sat down beside her, immediately putting his arm around her waist, and Monica took the bench opposite with John. The air was cold.

"How are you feeling?" Mulder asked, rubbing her back.

"A little nervous," Scully admitted quietly. "But if I'm going to do this, now's the time."

Monica nodded. She knew how much Scully's medical career meant to her. That was simply the way she was - the way the whole Scully family was. They were intelligent and ambitious, and of a genetic breed where sitting around was the surest way of sending them crazy. Bill and Charlie were both the same, and though Charlie was intending to leave the Navy, Monica couldn't imagine him being a stay at home father permanently. He was not as openly ambitious as his sister, but he was just as intelligent.

"You'll be fine," Monica said, trying to support her. "Just take it slow, one little step at a time. Like you've always done."

"Don't think about anything," John advised. "Work through it like a machine."

Scully nodded to herself, but she said nothing in reply.

"Something's bothering you," Mulder said, watching her.

And Monica found Scully's worried eyes look up at her.

"Are you okay with this?"

"Of course I am," Monica assured her. "I'm okay with anything you need."

It was a white lie, and they all knew it, but Monica could not bear to speak the truth. She felt the heaviness of their professional parting as they all did. She did not blame Jana one bit for what she did. In fact, Monica would have thought a lot less of her if she had not questioned them. And she knew that Jana had gone about it the way she had because to ask the four of them honestly would have provoked a chorus of confident lies. The four of them worked so well together, read each other and spoke for each other that Jana had undoubtedly thought the quickest way was to mimic a real situation in asking their opinion on a case and seeing how they reacted. And Monica had not been ready to go back to the FBI anyway, but she had done it to support Scully and had fully intended to stay on leave longer even if Jana had given her badge back. But now she felt a depressing sense of loss - that she was losing Mulder and Scully back to the FBI while herself and John remained full time at home, and she dreaded those lonely hours when they would be gone from the house and she would have only their suitcases for company. And it was surely only going to get worse as they increased their hours and rediscovered their careers. The past two months of having them around constantly had been heaven, and the pain of finally breaking this dependency was nothing short of utter agony for all four of them.

"Maybe it is too soon," Scully said. "Perhaps I should stay on leave a while longer."

"No," John said. "You need this. And it's only four hours a week, we'll still have plenty of time together."

"Exactly," Monica said, lying outright. "And we'll be fine. It was always going to come to this, we've all known it all along. And putting it off is only going to make things worse. Do what's best for you, Dana."

"And you?" Scully asked.

"I'll be fine," Monica said. "I'll be keeping busy."

"Managing our investments is a full-time job," John agreed.

"That's right," Monica said. "You have no cause for worry."

"And the FBI?" Scully asked tentatively.

Monica fell silent.

Scully nodded to herself, as if this was answer enough. She sighed and leaned back against the lockers, her glistening eyes locked onto Monica's.

"It's never going to be the same," Mulder said, looking depressed. "Now we're going our separate ways. The partnerships we've held all these years, the cases we've had and the times we've had."

Monica felt tears in her own eyes, remembering a slew of scattered memories; uniting in battle to keep the X-files open, backing each other up in chases, and occasionally those quiet moments when their work slowed down enough that they could catch their breath and crack a joke or two.

"I'll never let go of it," she promised. "And we'll never let go of each other. No matter what our needs are, we stay together."

"Always," John agreed, taking Monica's hand and giving it a squeeze.

Scully gave a sad smile, but a second later she was looking away, holding back tears.

"Scully ..." Mulder said, drawing her closer.

She sniffed, drawing back her tears. "I'm going to miss you."

Monica felt her own tears flow. "Like I'll miss you."

And Scully got to her feet as Monica did, and they hugged each other tight, Monica holding onto the thin cloth of medical scrubs, her tears dropping onto the shoulder as Scully clung to her equally fiercely. And together they held each other, mourning the parting of their careers, the end of their long months spent entirely in each other's company. From here on they would have to struggle to regain some sense of individual independence, each find a path for their own future. And though Monica knew they would continue living together, the sense of loss that overwhelmed the locker room was unbearable.

"I have to go," Scully said, pulling back and her eyes flying to a clock on the wall. "They'll be waiting."

"Wipe your eyes," John said, and not having a tissue, he reached out and wiped some saltwater from her cheeks.

Scully smiled, sniffing again. "I'll be back in a little while."

"We'll be waiting right here," Mulder promised, and he leaned to kiss her firmly on the lips.

XXX

It was nine o'clock at night and the four of them were sitting together on John and Monica's sofa bed. Deirdre had given them a long counselling session to help them cope with the prospect of spending these four hours per week apart, but it only did a little to help Scully's depression. She had not expected to feel this way. She had expected to feel elation at getting her badge back, and at getting through the autopsy successfully. It had not been perfect - she had nearly lost it on several occasions, losing her words as she stared at the bloody corpse in front of her and finding herself trembling - but Doctor Cheung had pulled her through and she had reached the end with the job done. Jana had requested that her next two autopsies were also done with his assistance, but overall it was a fair outcome considering how difficult it had been. But she had never expected to be blindsided by this overwhelming sense of loss for Monica and John. She hardly understood it, it was such a complex feeling, but it was there for all of them, and they had all been down for the whole day.

Monica was lying on her side in purple shorts and a singlet top, John behind her with a hand on her hip, and she eyed Scully, who was curled up in Mulder's secure arms.

"We need to get over this," Monica said sadly. "There's no sense in us being depressed about it."

"Maybe we should think in positives," Mulder said, attempting to join her. His hands were under the front of Scully's top, stroking her stomach and her ribs below her bra.

"You sound like _Pollyanna_," Scully complained, recalling the movie from her childhood.

"She was a positive person," Mulder said.

"She was a character in a Disney movie," Scully corrected. "It has little resemblance to real life, much less our situation."

"We could give it a try," Monica said. "If each of us picked something to be positive about."

"Like what?" John asked.

"I don't know," Monica said thoughtfully. "Like the fact that we're physically better."

"You are lookin' good," he agreed, and his hand slipped from her hip to her behind, causing Monica to smile.

"Later," she promised, smiling at him over her shoulder.

"And we're going to have a new baby in the family," Mulder suggested. "A new niece or nephew."

"Two of them," Scully corrected, thinking of both Christi and Tara's pregnancies.

But that thought was a little painful. She was beginning to adjust to the idea of never having children herself, but she still felt for Charlie and how much he was missing of Christi's pregnancy. It had been a few weeks now, and Christi's morning sickness was beginning to pass. She was nearly nine weeks now, and Scully was hoping that she would not have a miscarriage. The four of them had made a pact to minimise the stress they put on Christi. They had agreed not to cry to her, or in front of her, and be cheerful and supportive when she was around. Their difficulties were to be kept to each other, to their parents and to Deirdre. And Christi had been doing well. They were keeping Charlie informed of all pregnancy news - the latest e-mailed photo of Christi's stomach causing him swear that she was starting to expand - and he was managing to call regularly and so the two had enough time to chat privately that they were so far coping well. But it was nevertheless less than ideal.

"Perhaps we should get some sleep," John ventured. "Maybe we'll all feel better in the morning."

"Perhaps we should," Mulder agreed.

But no one made a move, and Mulder's hands continued their content stroking under Scully's top.

"I don't feel like being alone tonight," Scully said softly. "Can we stay together?"

Monica smiled like she had stolen the words right out of her mouth and started to get up. "We can fold up the bed, spread out on the floor."

"We'll need some pillows and blankets," John said, letting go of Monica and standing up.

Mulder's hands slid out from Scully's clothing, and she reluctantly left her comfortable position and stood up so they could fold up the bed and sleep together on the floor as they had in the crashed plane and on the nights following their return. A few minutes later and they were all prepared. They had the pillows and blankets from both bedrooms spread out on the floor, and Monica returned from brushing her teeth and saying goodnight to everyone. She hovered at the door.

"Lights out?"

"Yeah," Mulder agreed, getting down to the floor and tugging on Scully's hand.

"Are you going to sleep like that?" Monica asked, looking at Scully's baggy flannel pyjamas. She knew that Scully and Mulder had taken to sleeping naked in the absence of a sex life.

"If you are," Scully said, knowing full well what went on in John and Monica's bed when the lights went out and doubting their sleepwear was ever actually slept in.

With a daring smile, Monica clicked the light off, and shut the bedroom door. It was not fully dark, as the night sky was clear and the moonlight around the curtains gave Scully just enough light to see Monica's dark form as she lifted her singlet top over her head, and as Scully thought she saw John's hand shoot up from the floor and tug down her shorts, leaving her in her lingerie.

"Why not go all the way?" Mulder enquired lightly.

"What makes you think we won't?" Monica joked in return, getting under the blankets between John and Mulder.

"Other side, Mulder," Scully instructed, tapping him on the chest and slipping over the top of him so she was between Mulder and Monica. She did not want either to grab the wrong partner by mistake. Though she knew both were entirely trustworthy, the part of her that was in love with Mulder felt a stab of alarm all the same.

"Scully ..."

As she settled on her back on the heavenly hard floor, she felt Mulder's hand creep up, undoing the buttons on her pyjama shirt. Feeling light-hearted, Scully sat up a little and shrugged it off. Mulder's hands then untied the knot of strings on her pants, and she kicked them off under the blankets for good measure so she was lying in her black lingerie as Monica was.

"Anyone mind if we open the window?" John asked, sitting up on an elbow.

"Go for it," Mulder invited.

John got up and padded across the carpet to the window, where he opened it an inch and Scully felt the pleasant night breeze wave in, touching the ends of her hair.

"Well goodnight," John said, returning to his place beside Monica. Scully felt another small breeze as he lifted up the blankets, but then he slipped in and it went away.

"Goodnight," Scully replied.

And as the four of them settled down, Scully knew that medically, the four of them were having a serious relapse in needing to sleep on the floor like they had on the plane, feel the moving of cold air as they had on the plane, and feel the presence of each other as they had on the plane. But to Scully, after the day they had had, it all felt so wonderful that she did not honestly give a damn.

XXX

Scully's heart was pounding. She stared at the heavy wad of paper in her hands - the five hundred and twelve printed pages she had spent every spare minute writing since their arrival in Atlanta over two months ago. To finally have the finished product in her hands was to see time standing still as she sat in the empty living room as the sky outside went from black to a deep indigo. It was all written now, every intimate memory from the mountains was down in these pages, her whole heart was spread throughout this memoir. She had intended to stick to her plan of writing it as a purely medical account, yet this had proved impossible. The memories from the mountains held her entire soul, and she could not pick and choose, it all came together. The book comprised of an account of what happened on the mountains, and select pieces from their time since, and was followed by a hundred page essay on the underlying psychiatry. But now it was done, the product of every corner of her soul out on paper, Scully felt she could never publish it, could never release this precious part of herself for the entire world.

"It's finished?"

Scully jumped. Her eyes shot up over the back of the couch to see Mulder standing at the foot of the stairs. He was in pyjama pants and a t-shirt, even though the air inside the house was quite cold. Scully herself had only thrown her terrycloth robe over her underwear.

Scully's heart was still pounding, and she could not answer as she again lowered her eyes to the title page.

"_Quest_," Mulder read, sitting down beside her. "By Doctor Dana Scully."

"It's a working title," Scully supplied. She had run through hundreds of possible titles, from the factual to the eye catching, from the medical to those that spoke to the soul. It was "Quest" that her heart had clung to, and even now she felt she could not explain her choice.

"Interesting choice," he said, studying the title as he pondered the underlying meaning. "It implies a search for something. For meaning?"

"Yes," Scully said softly, her heart still thumping with the emotional power of what she held in her hands.

"And have you found the meaning?" Mulder asked. "What you've been looking for?"

"I think we've all found it," Scully replied softly, as the power of this five letter word unravelled in front of her. "And I think it's about far more than coming to terms with grief, with our innate helplessness under the hand of nature. I think it's an equilibrium in the soul."

Mulder's eyes watched her as she again ran her fingers under the title. She spoke softly, hauntingly.

"Mulder, I think now that the real quest began long before we started trying to find a way out of those mountains. Long before we even crashed. Our careers in the FBI, the pressure in our lives, the drive we all felt for achievement, pushing ourselves, striving every day for something we could never pin down. And I didn't even know I _was _searching then, much less what I was searching for. And now ... for the first time in my life, things feel clear."

She paused, searching his eyes, hoping he understood.

"What do you think it's about?" he asked.

She considered the question. "About a better way of life. About balance in our hearts, in our lives and in the world. A group of very different people who overcame human faults to truly find each other. Something everyone in the world searches for. Something so few ever find."

"About goodness," Mulder filled in softly. "About love."

"And about beauty," Scully finished. "Because I think now that beauty and horror come together, and you can't know either unless you understand the other. And in being exposed to those powerful hours, it was like a door was unlocked for us through which we could experience the overwhelming beauty of the world."

Mulder nodded, and his eyes found the pile of psychiatry books on the coffee table. "In the same way time stops for a family when their loved one is rushed to hospital, or any time we attend a funeral and see our own mortality right before our eyes. And that door opens and we suddenly rise above our petty concerns, the everyday meaningless irritations that corrupt our souls. But I think the difference for us is that that door never closed again."

"Mulder, I don't want to close it," Scully said, heart still pounding.

"It takes a special person to say that," Mulder said, love and awe in his eyes. "To be struck down by the brutality of the world and have the strength to get up again and instead of feeling bitterness and resentment, feeling the real power and beauty of the experience."

"We were lucky," Scully said, her voice trembling. "We were so, so lucky."

She met his eyes and saw tears there, but like her own, it was not for sadness. They were tears of awe, tears of love and tears of revelation. And heart pounding with so much love it was painful, Scully slowly leaned forward and captured Mulder's lips with her own.

It was heaven. She felt him remove the book from her hands, and his fingers then gently wove into her hair as they each shifted closer. Their mouths opened in slow kissing that was intense with love as he stroked her hair and then as his other hand came to the front of her robe, unravelling the knot. Her own hands swooped to his t-shirt, lifting it up and needing him closer. Not in body, not in wanton flesh or passionate blood, but in a need to have _him _- his heart and soul, to have her soul mate as close as possible even though it would never be close enough.

"God, I love you Scully," Mulder breathed, as his lips left hers for her cheek and hairline. She leaned back on the couch as his body enveloped her. She pulled his t-shirt over his head.

"Dr Scully," she corrected, her chest heaving up and down as he leaned over her, her hands stroking his chest and back.

He kissed her again, increasing in passion as one of his hands darted under her, undoing her bra.

His lips brushed her ear. "In your medical analysis, did you find ever find a cure?"

Scully closed her eyes as his lips brushed over hers again, and she felt the cool air of the room hit her now bare breasts, nipples peaked and ready for attention.

"I found a treatment," Scully said, as he obliged and bent over to show them his love and well-practiced talent.

"And what's that?" he asked, as he made his way back up to her lips, missing her already and unable to bear the temporary separation.

Scully tugged down his pyjama pants.

"You're a profiler, Mulder. Read me."

* * *

_I think Scully really needed to make sense of everything and get it all down and understood before she could relax enough to resume her romance with Mulder. The book was like a therapeutic release, and once it was all down and out she was left with none of the pain and just an unexplainable feeling of being overwhelmed with so many feelings, which were all channeled then into Mulder. I hope this came through and you get where I'm coming from with this. It's also a shorter chapter than usual, but hey, this felt like such a natural ending I just went with it! Hope you enjoyed. _


	37. Chapter 37

**_Chapter 68 - Babies & New Life_**

Christi's first three months passed with no sign of a miscarriage or any problems, and this finally enabled her to feel safe in starting to prepare for the new arrival. So it was at the beginning of May that Monica found herself standing in the spare room of Christi's house with the rest of the family, mapping out how they were going to turn the bland bedroom - mainly used as a storeroom with boxes and old junk from one end to the other - and to turn it into a nursery.

"We're going to have to throw a lot of this stuff out," Jack said, moving to a stack of boxes stuffed with childhood memorabilia, unwanted Christmas presents and old objects from passed fads that had been abandoned.

"Well this one can probably go," Christi said, opening the lid of a box and screwing her nose up at the contents inside.

"No lifting," John ordered, taking her arms and moving her aside. "Go sit down."

"It's not heavy," Christi argued, pulling out the arm of an old pink rabbit and showing it to him. "I can manage."

"Sit down and rest," John repeated, nodding to the ancient single bed.

She looked amused by John's enthusiastic overprotectiveness, but stood aside. Her hand moved to her abdomen. She was showing slightly now, her skinny figure meaning the pregnancy was impossible to hide.

"Just a minute," Monica said. She held up the digital camera and took a snapshot of the room so they could send Charlie before and after photos.

"He knows what the room looks like," Scully pointed out, moving to stand beside John and Jack.

"There's no such thing as too much information," Monica said, aware as they all were that Charlie had been devouring absolutely everything they sent him.

"You'll have to think about colours," Anne said to her daughter, looking around at the plain white walls. "We'll have to brighten it up a bit."

"It'd help if we knew if it was a boy or a girl," Mrs Scully said, dropping the hint in Christi's direction for her next ultrasound at twenty weeks.

"We'll have to go for a neutral colour," Christi said matter-of-factly. "We're not going to find out until the birth. We're going to leave it as a surprise."

"Aren't you curious?" Monica asked, thinking that if had been her, she would be too excited to wait.

Christi smiled a bit, giving away the fact that she was, but the next moment she shrugged and looked a little anxious. "Charlie's missing so much already. This way he'll be here for it."

Scully touched her on the back, sympathising. They stood back as John picked up the first box, his sleeves rolled up, carrying it out into the hallway to make a stack of things that could be thrown out.

Monica, smiling took another photo of Christi standing there with her hand on her stomach, Scully's arm around her.

"We'll need to put on a new coat of paint," Jack said, analysing the room, "and some new carpet ..."

"We'll need all the furniture, too," John added, all business as he went for another box, opening it up to see if there was anything of worth inside. "A cot and a change table ..."

Christi glowed, still not believing it was all happening. Renovating the bedroom made it all feel so much more real. Scully rubbed her back, smiling with her. Monica had noticed how strongly Scully had stuck to her promise to Charlie; she had so far been present for every moment, and looked as if she was glad to be a part of it. Monica had worried at first that it might make it all the more painful for her, not being able to have children herself, but was surprised that it seemed to have the opposite effect. She seemed glad to be of genuine use for once, and her strong protective instincts had been aroused. She was present for all doctor's appointments and checkups, even changing her morning for work at the Atlanta field office when one appointment clashed.

"Scully?"

Mulder's voice bellowed up from Christi's front door.

"Up here!" Monica called back.

They heard him thumping up the stairs and a moment later he appeared in the doorway, slightly out of breath.

"Where've you been?" Scully asked. He had stayed behind to finish reading through a file that he had brought home. But there was a sparkle in his eyes that Monica did not associate with his part time work as a profiler.

"Been chatting up the neighbours," he supplied, entering the room and dropping a kiss on her lips.

"Andrew and Jane?" Anne asked, puzzled.

"What were you doing there?" Monica asked, curious.

"I made them an offer," Mulder said, a smile on his lips. "For their house," he added, when everyone continued to look puzzled.

"You offered to buy them out?" Scully clarified, eyes widening.

"I offered a little more than what it was worth, but they didn't need much encouragement. Their daughter and her family are moving to Tennessee. They've been thinking of going with them to be near their grandchildren."

"But you made 'em an offer," John said, not believing his ears.

"Mm-hmm." Mulder nodded.

There was a pause. The four of them had talked about a place of their own, as Mulder and Scully had settled in to their part time work at the field office, and Monica had begun to feel that the time was right to move on from Anne and Jack's hospitality and get a place of their own nearby. But thus far, a light discussion was all it had been, and none of them had progressed to actively looking. But, Monica thought, spontaneous had always been Mulder's middle name.

"Any objections?"

"No," Scully said quickly, her face brightening. "No, that'd be good to -"

"Stay close," Mulder finished with a smile, nodding around at their family.

And Monica smiled too - her shock passing into delight. To be this close to Anne and Jack, two doors down, and right next door to Christi would be heaven. They would all still be together every day, yet have their independence and a place of their own. And they would be around for every moment of the new baby.

"What's the place like?" John asked curiously. "I've never even been in there."

"It's nice," Mulder said. "Three bedrooms and a study. And we can always do it up how we want."

"And we'd have a place of our own," Scully said, looking around at Mulder, John and Monica and looking hopeful.

"We have to give them time to find a new place," Mulder said. "But it shouldn't be too long."

"You have to sort out your places in Washington anyway," Christi pointed out, also looking hopeful at this idea that they were all going to stay nearby.

"And get your furniture," Jack added.

There was a pause as they noticed Anne was still quiet. She appeared surprised by the suddenness of their exit.

"We'll still be close," Monica told her.

Anne broke her reverie, smiling at her. "Of course, of course ..." She came and put her arms around Monica, kissing her on the cheek. "It was just a surprise, that's all. I hadn't expected it this soon."

"Well we have been with you for three months," John said. "I think it is time. And we'll still all be together, be here for the baby ..."

"Do you hear me complaining?" Anne asked, beaming as the idea took hold. If they had to move out, it was the best possible solution that they were only going all of two doors down. Her whole family would be basically living every day together. She would be around her future grandchildren, too ...

"Don't worry," Jack told Mrs Scully. "You can still stay with us for as long as you like."

"Absolutely," Anne said enthusiastically.

"Actually, I'll have to leave soon," Mrs Scully said, throwing a slightly nervous look at her daughter. "I've been meaning to talk to you about it."

Scully looked up, not understanding.

"Tara's due in eight weeks," Mrs Scully explained, and this brought a smile to her lips. "I'm going to go a few weeks early, help her with the pregnancy and the kids, stay for the birth ..."

"Of course," Scully said, nodding quickly. Tara was family and needed their support as much as Christi. They had not been worried about her thus far because she had the full support of her parents and sisters, and was also going through this for the third time, and not the first as Christi was. "She'll need help."

"I can't believe it's getting so close," Monica said. It seemed like only yesterday she was at the beginning of her pregnancy with them in Washington, and they had all been so scared that the stress might cause a miscarriage.

"Nine months sounds like a long time," Anne said with a smile. "But it goes a lot quicker than you think."

A corner of Christi's mouth turned up, and her hand again drifted over her stomach. She had a wistful look for Charlie in her eyes. Scully rubbed her back again.

"Well," John said brightly, recovering. "In that case we'd better get cracking."

And he turned and reached for another box, Monica went to help, and as a family they began to prepare the room for Christi and Charlie's baby.

XXX

The next eight weeks passed quickly, each of them so busy in their own way. Mulder and Scully had increased their hours at the field office from four to eight - Monday and Thursday mornings - and they were both being kept busy with more work than they had time for. On some cases, ones which especially piqued their interest, they brought them home with them, often reading through files at the dining table, though careful to keep any gruesome crime scene photos out of sight of anyone else. But overall, their transition back into the FBI had been relatively smooth. They were still undergoing regular counselling with Deirdre, and were calling John and Monica during their morning tea breaks at work, but the agony that had first existed on their first day had long gone, and it was now a pleasant routine.

Monica was busy full time in managing their investments - the value of which was over 150 million and climbing constantly. She kept a constant watch on the stock market, buying and selling, and read every corner of the financial news every day, sitting at the dining table with her reading glasses on, studying the economy. She was slowly building their property portfolio, which now included several retail shops around Atlanta, a business complex in Savannah, several small industrial factories, and a slew of residential properties, the majority of which were in booming tourist towns along the eastern Georgia coastline. It was a regular part of her life now to attend auctions of places that interested her, sometimes buying at a bargain price, other times just keeping a sharp eye on the market and doing her homework. It had also had the side effect of creating a new angle in her relationship with Jack, as he had sought her advice on how best to invest the 11 million they had given to himself and Anne, and Monica coached him in all she knew, and he proved to be a quick learner. He was always interested in accompanying Monica to auctions or to visit real estate agents, and the two bounced their likes and concerns off each other, company in their new business interest.

John, who of the four of them had struggled the most in finding a new life direction, had come to life with Christi's pregnancy. He took charge of helping her renovate the new nursery, moving out all the old furniture, taking care of the removal of all her old unwanted possessions, buying and laying some new durable carpet, painting the walls a soft cream colour, installing some new colourful curtains, and laying a strip of wallpaper of happy zoo animals along the wall that would suit either a boy or a girl. He bought her all the new required furniture, got it home from the store and up the stairs for her, and once all this was done started with plans for how he would renovate their own home once the settlement occurred at the end of August. In the midst of all this Jana Cassidy dropped another surprise - on their six month review enquiring as to whether he would be interested in coming back as a part time mentor for the following three months. They had twelve young graduates from the Academy being placed in the Atlanta Field Office, and she thought that with his broad experience across the military, police force and FBI he would be a good candidate to oversee their transition into life in the FBI. John had tossed the idea around his head for several days, but in the end accepted on the basis of Monica's supportive encouragement. He could work the same hours as Mulder and Scully, and it was not in the least bit dangerous, his only requirement being to meet up with each new agent once a week to see how they were coping. As they headed into the bright sunny skies of early July, the program was to start in another two and a half weeks.

The rest of the family were doing well, too. Deirdre had gone back to her old job two days per week, still supporting them for the remainder of the week. Anne was kept busy by her excitement over her new grandchild, and when she was not caring for Christi, she kept up her Sunday trips to her local Baptist church, and also her Saturday mornings at the charity shop, which the four of them and Christi sometimes kept her company for. Christi had been forced to cancel her planned trip to Europe with Georgia, but Georgia had fully understood and was merely bubbling with enthusiasm about her pregnancy. The two met up at least once a week, for lunches, shopping or just for visits, talking about the baby and getting Christi's mind off missing Charlie. The only slightly negative news was that Mrs Scully had left near the end of June for San Diego, to support Tara over the birth, but Scully had taken this well, and was dutiful in keeping up with the news from the west coast.

It was one week into July when Christi had her twenty week check-up, seeing her baby on screen and dissolving into delighted tears at the sight. Anne and Scully had gone in with her for support, and while seeing the baby had made Christi only ache more for Charlie's presence, Scully had reassured her that they would send him pictures from the DVD, and she would label everything so he didn't miss a thing. Christi had also been asked whether she wanted to know the sex of her baby, and had been hesitant in replying at first, as her love for her child overwhelmed her and she didn't think she could wait another second, much less four months, but then she thought of Charlie again and had stuck to her wish to leave it for when he could participate, in spite of the fact that Charlie had said it was entirely her choice, and he was excited either way.

In the evening they brought the DVD home for the whole family to watch again, and they all gathered around - Monica in John's lap in a skimpy summer tank top and shorts, craving a baby of her own, Scully and Mulder sitting side by side on the couch, his hand on her lower back as she leaned forward, and Anne on the arm of Christi's chair with Jack kneeling at the DVD player below the television.

"Here we go," Jack said, smiling over his shoulder as he pressed play.

And Monica felt her breath leave her as the baby on the screen began to move, feet shifting a little. Christi was beaming once again, still in tears of delight as she watched her son or daughter. She put a hand to her stomach, connecting what she saw on the screen with the baby she now felt moving inside her.

"Wow ..." Christi said, in awe of the sight.

"It looks strong and healthy," John said, smiling wide as his eyes were glued to the screen.

They all watched for a moment longer, captivated by the sight.

"Maybe I should've found out the gender," Christi said suddenly, face full of regret.

"It's a bit late now," John pointed out gently.

Christi's face saddened as she realised he was right. Her heart was pounding with love for her baby.

"You know Maggie thinks it's a girl," Christi ventured, launching into the guessing game for what was the hundredth time.

Monica had heard Mrs Scully express this view with utter certainty numerous times. It was based on Christi's minimal sickness in the early days of her pregnancy, and now how much Christi could feel the baby moving. Mrs Scully had claimed that Dana had been just as restless, and was therefore sure that they were going to be blessed with another Scully girl. Anne, however, expressed the opposite view, saying it could just as well be a boy. The baby was no doubt a good mover, but that was also how John had been, impatient to kick his way out of jail and not keen on waiting until the nine month mark. She argued that Christi had been the more settled one, and therefore maintained her opinion that the baby was a boy. So the vote was divided, though everyone, most of all Charlie, maintained that they were thrilled either way, and it didn't really matter.

"Well let me know if you'd like to know," Scully said suddenly, eyes on the television.

Christi's blue eyes shot up to her. "You can tell?"

"It's a clear view," Scully said casually, though with a smile turning up her lips.

Monica tried not to smile as she watched Christi's pounding ache to know only treble. She stared at the screen, breathless with love. And Monica saw plainly that Christi had always wanted to know, but was selfless for Charlie's sake, feeling for how much he was missing.

"You know Charlie said it was up to you," Monica said.

"I know," Christi said, staring with longing at the screen.

"I think telling him might actually help," Mulder said. "It'll give him something else to hang onto, make him feel a connection with the baby, give him something to be excited about."

"And you know he'll be just as excited no matter whether it's a boy or a girl," Jack said. "You've seen him with Matthew and Lizzie."

Christi nodded, grinning. Charlie was going to make a fabulous father.

Monica saw her resolve weakening just as the phone rang.

"I'll get it," Scully said, getting to her feet. It was around the time when Mrs Scully rang nightly from San Diego.

"Do you think I should find out?" Christi asked Anne.

"It's up to you," Anne said. "It's your choice."

"Would you find out?" Christi asked Monica and John.

"If you want to know, just ask her," Monica said, seeing plainly that Christi was dying to know.

"There's no law saying you have to wait," John said.

Christi bit her lip and looked back to the screen, where Jack had paused it.

Just then Scully came hurrying back from the kitchen.

"What's the matter?" Mulder asked, alert.

Scully stopped with her hands on the back of the couch and smiled. "Tara's given birth."

Everyone stopped, looking up at her.

"Already?" John asked. She had had another few days to go.

"And?" Monica added excitedly.

Scully smiled wide. "It's a girl. Sarah Rose Scully. Mom says she has Tara's eyes, Bill's light brown hair and that she's beautiful. She's sending us a picture."

"Oh my God!"

Anne, a mass of delight, got to her feet and went to share a hug with Scully. Mulder also stood up.

"That's amazing," Monica said. "Matthew and Lizzie have a sister."

But as the jubilation continued and Anne went to the phone to talk to Mrs Scully and share in the joy, Monica's eyes again found Christi, who had reacted with enthusiasm, but who had returned to staring wistfully at the frozen picture of her own baby.

"Would you like to know?" Scully asked softly. Monica could see the excitement in her eyes.

"No," Christi said, smiling again. "I'll wait till Charlie gets back."

"Are you sure?" Monica asked.

"Yes," Christi said. "I want to find out together."

XXX

Christi did not ask Scully again about the gender of her baby, maintaining her desire to wait until she could share the moment with Charlie, and Scully kept respectfully silent. Though everyone else in the family - especially Monica - had cornered her at various stages pleading to know, Scully was stubborn in keeping the secret, saying the only people she would tell were Christi and Charlie.

Time marched on into August, and at the end of the month the settlement occurred on the property next door to Christi, and they were free to move in. Their furniture and belongings had been brought down from Washington, leaving their apartments and John's house in Falls Church to be leased out, and it was on a scorching summers day that the four of them stood in the living room of their new place, looking around at the mountain of boxes crowding their path in every direction.

Monica, who had surrendered to the heat and was wearing only a tiny pair of shorts and a Nike sports bra, opened a box of books and began stacking them on the bookshelf. Scully, sitting on her old couch and finishing a salad for lunch, watched her and reflected on how their tastes clashed. Scully's book collection was entirely non-fiction, composed of heavy textbooks from college on physics and medicine, and a stack of medical journals she had collected over the years. Whereas Monica's collection was a symbol of her pre-Canada lifestyle. She brought shelves of books with her, including old books from college on languages, religion and mythology, several on her specialist area of satanic ritual abuse, but there were also books on numerology and spirituality, several self-help guides on finding a balanced lifestyle and healthy eating, and one on empowerment for women, which John picked up on his way past, staring at it as if he had never seen anything like it.

"What?" Monica asked innocently, a smile playing on her lips.

"Nothin'," he said, handing the book to her and giving her a look.

Monica smiled as she slid it onto the top shelf. John's own collection which he produced a few minutes later consisted only of a few thrillers which Scully knew served as last resort entertainment for long plane rides across the country. Mulder had nothing to add at all.

There were other furnishings, too, which were specific to their own characters. John had brought a silver framed photo of Luke, which he placed on a shelf with a sad expression that drew Monica to his side in seconds, putting her arm around him. He put his arm around her shoulders and kissed her, brightening as if reminding himself that he was getting another chance at life. Mulder had not been able to part with his fish tank. All their previous fish had died during their time lost in the mountains, but Mulder had emptied the tank and cleaned it, and then ducked out to the local pet shop to buy some new fish. Monica gave it a look as if they weren't going to get along, but compromised as they all were. Despite the tight bond between them, their personality quirks still drew smiles and odd looks. Scully's contribution had been a few sentimental family photos, including one rare one from her childhood of all four children and both parents, her father in his Navy uniform, and one recent one of a beaming Matthew and Lizzie sitting on Tara's hospital bed and holding newborn Sarah between them.

The one thing all four of them had united on was the old noticeboard in the hallway. This was their therapy, and was a wall of old newspaper clippings from the crash, and photos of every one of the dead. On several of the photos they had scribbled messages beneath, which Deirdre had encouraged for their therapy. Beneath Holly's photo was Monica's writing, saying simply, "I love you, Holly, and I'm so, so sorry. Love Monica. xxoo". Scully had not been able to reduce her feelings to a single sentence, and had written a letter to all of the dead instead, which was folded and pinned up with a yellow pin. John had placed a photo of themselves, taken by the media when they had first returned to Washington. It shocked Scully now to see how skeletal they had been, and how miserable and haunted their expressions were. Next to it Mulder had placed a contrasting photo of the four of them taken a month ago by Christi, all sitting together and smiling with love. Scully's heart clung to this image.

"What the _hell's _this?"

Scully looked up as John paused on his way past a side table, on which Monica had placed a brown metal sculpture, with its waving fronds twisting upwards like a dancing plant.

"It's a sculpture," Monica said, taking a stack of bridal magazines and putting them on the coffee table. Their November wedding had moved into the planning arena now.

"Modern art?" John asked, squinting at what he saw as a pile of scrap metal that could possibly be melted down or welded into something more useful.

Scully tried to keep a straight face, keeping her eyes averted.

"It's symbolic," Monica explained. "It represents the ethereal nature of love. The poetry and beauty of life."

"I can see that," Mulder agreed, as he began setting up the television and DVD player.

John gave the two of them a look, and then looked to Scully, appealing for support. Scully looked away, biting her lip trying to hold in her smile.

He was saved when his work cell phone rang, vibrating across the kitchen bench.

"John Doggett," he said. "Yeah, Steve, how ya goin'?"

He smiled as he wandered out of the room to take the call in private. Steve was one of John's twelve Academy graduates whom he was mentoring until October. They had all been pleasantly surprised with how well John had taken to the job. It was as if helping these twelve young agents helped fill some of the void they all felt from what had happened on the mountain. He had made himself readily available to them, invited them to call him anytime, and had not shrunk away from discussing some of the more emotional aspects of the job, as Scully imagined he would have before the accident. The new John Doggett had been to hell and back, and, miraculously, survived to tell the tale. And he had reached another level of maturity, entirely comfortable with working through anything the new agents were bothered by, and he was so relaxed and unintimidating that he had bonded well with all twelve of them. Scully, Mulder and Monica were all enormously grateful that Jana had put the job his way. They were even more grateful that she was continuing her support; she had recently floated the idea of his helping out with the fitness assessments that were scheduled for late October. It was the same test the four of them had sat to regain their FBI badges, and was the one every field agent was required to pass every three years. This time, however, Jana was putting John on the instructor side, which included testing them, and also a small amount of personal training, working with agents who were having difficulties, and one or two who were recovering from injury and could do with a trainer overseeing their recovery. John had happily agreed, though on the proviso that he could stay as part time. Though they had significantly improved, full time work remained out of reach for all of them, though Mulder and Scully had again increased their hours, moving from Monday and Thursday mornings to throwing in Wednesday afternoons as well. It was a twelve hour week now, and a nice balance between work and family life.

"Anyone home?"

Scully looked over the back of the couch as Monica let in Christi and Georgia. Christi was seven months pregnant now, and she walked in with Georgia's hand on her arm. Georgia was on summer leave from teaching, and the two had been spending a lot of time together.

"Hey!" Monica chimed happily.

"We bought you all some flowers," Georgia said, passing over a large bouquet of dazzling colour. "As a big friendly, cuddly welcome."

"Wow," Monica said, beaming. "Thank you. I think we have a vase somewhere around here ..."

"I'll get it," Scully said, knowing exactly in which box she had packed her own and digging in to fetch it.

"It's looking amazing," Christi said, smiling as she looked around. Scully did not know whether it was her pregnancy or the sunshine outside, but she looked even more radiant than usual.

"How do you feel today?" Mulder asked.

"We're doing fine," Christi said, a hand on her heavily rounded stomach. "Only a little tired. I think the baby's training to be an Olympic gymnast. The sweetie kept me up half the night."

"It's gotta be a boy," Georgia said with a grin, walking with her over to the couch and sitting down. "You know how they are at school, perpetual wrigglers."

"I'd love a little Charlie," Christi said dreamily, leaning her head back.

"Or a little Christi," Mulder suggested.

"Mmm ..." Christi said, beaming and looking faraway.

Scully kept her focus on digging out the vase, keeping an impassive face and not giving away any clues. She could feel Monica's eyes on her, and Monica could spot a hint or a lie at a thousand paces.

"Well we'll find out soon enough," Monica said supportively, sitting down on a box. "He'll be home soon."

"40 days," Christi counted, a smile on her lips. "It still feels like so many."

"It'll fly by before you know it," Georgia said.

And she was right.

XXX

"Oh God, it's late. What if something's gone wrong?"

Christi, whom Scully had always known as steady and calm, was now a total bundle of nerves. They were in the waiting lounge at the airport terminal where Charlie had been due to touch down ten minutes ago. He was flying straight back, not even stopping in San Diego to pick up his things or be introduced to Sarah. Though he longed to meet her, his passion to reunite with Christi and his own child overwhelmed everything else.

Scully sat on one side of her, Anne on her other, and between them they told her yet again to relax.

"It's just a minor delay," Scully said. "You know his connection was late."

"That'll be him now," Anne said, pointing out the windows to a plane that was creeping in to align with the terminal.

"What if he doesn't love me anymore?" Christi asked, panicking. "It's been _so _long..."

"He does," John said flatly. "Or else he wouldn't have spent every spare second he had on the phone, or writing those ten dozen love letters."

It was love e-mails that the two had been exchanging, but the reminder calmed Christi a little as she smiled again. She was eight months pregnant now and had her hand resting on her huge belly.

"If he didn't love you he would've stopped over in San Diego," Scully reasoned.

"He's not even stopping for a change of clothes," Jack said, raising an eyebrow at the passion of the young lovers. "I think that speaks for itself."

"He loves you even more than he did eight months ago," Monica said, beaming in anticipation of the happy reunion. "Just relax."

"I can't relax, I -"

But she broke off as the first passenger exited the gate. Her blue eyes flew up to the exit. Scully took her hand to calm her rampaging nerves as she helped her to her feet.

"Where is he, I -"

And then he came into view, hurriedly ducking around two college students and eyes flying around the terminal. He looked in the other direction first, but then a split second later his eyes found them and his face split into a beaming smile which Christi reflected back, tears springing to her eyes.

"Oh my God -"

And with no time to even begin to locate words, he was rushing toward them. Dressed in his white Navy uniform, his red hair slightly longer than it had been when he left, he dropped his bag in the middle of the floor and sprang for his fiancé, muttering with delirious happiness.

"My God, my God ... there you are..."

"Charlie..."

His eyes flew to her huge pregnant stomach, and he put one hand on it as he leaned over to passionately capture her lips. It was a long moment before they came up for air, and as they kissed Christi put her hands over Charlie's that were resting on her pregnant belly. They stroked hands, and kissed on and on as eight months worth of love was caught up on. No words could express their feelings, and so they showed their love in the only way they could, holding and kissing, until eventually Charlie broke away, completely out of breath. With one hand he stroked back her wavy blonde tresses behind her ear, and then looked down lovingly into her blue eyes.

"You're so beautiful," he said, words rushing out his mouth. "So incredibly beautiful. I can't believe it, sweetie I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you, too," Christi said, beaming as a tear slipped down her cheek. "You have no idea how much. I can't believe you're here again."

"And you're -"

He stopped, taking half a step back as he looked down at her pregnant stomach. The sight seemed to take his breath away, and Scully saw his eyes tear up as he finally saw it for real. All their e-mails, photos and news, could never equal seeing it with his own eyes. Christi held his hand to her belly, her engagement ring shining prominently.

"Oh wow ..." he said, shaking his head as if in a dream and lost for words. His eyes flicked to her breasts, which were significantly larger than before.

"Meet your child," Christi said, breaking into another wide smile, as her hand continued to stroke his.

"My child," Charlie repeated, feeling her stomach. Then his smile widened again and his eyes lit up with tears. "Our child ..."

"Our baby," Christi repeated.

"Oh my God ..."

There was a moment of silence as Charlie continued to stare, taking in every square inch of Christi's enlarged stomach. Christi smiled to herself as she watched him, letting him have his moment.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through this alone," he said at last, raising guilty eyes to hers.

"It's okay," Christi told him. "It's not your fault. And everyone's been with me. Dana's taken good care of me."

He looked around, at last realising that there were in fact other people standing there. Scully smiled as her brother's eyes met hers, and he reached out his spare hand to clasp her arm in thanks, though he could not yet bring himself to detach himself from Christi and their baby to hug her fully.

"Oh, Dana ..." His eyes then found Anne, Jack, Mulder, John and Monica. Mrs Scully was due in from San Diego later that night. "Anne, Jack ... thank you so much."

"Don't be stupid," Anne said, laying a hand on his arm. "It's our daughter and our grandchild."

Just then Charlie's eyes flew back to Christi's stomach as their hands moved slightly.

"Was that..?"

"Yes," Christi said, beaming and moving his hand to a more direct spot. "He's kicking. He's a little athlete."

"Or she," Monica reminded them.

"Wow ..." Charlie said, awed. He waited and a second later the baby kicked again and Charlie's delighted eyes shot up to Christi's, renewed tears there.

"Meet your Daddy," Christi said to her stomach.

"Wow," Charlie said again. "He's strong, he's - he or she?"

"I didn't find out," Christi said, stroking his hand. "I wanted to wait for you."

He beamed, and swooped to kiss her again.

"God I love you," he said passionately. "I love you both ..."

"I love you too," Christi replied.

"But -"

"Dana knows," Christi said.

They studied each other's eyes.

Charlie stroked her cheek. "Do we want to..?"

"You choose," Christi said, smiling.

Charlie smiled. "I want to know everything." He looked up to Scully. "Absolutely everything there is to know."

Scully felt everyone's eyes upon her.

"Well your baby's about 38 centimetres long, or 15 inches, has hair and fingernails, can open its eyes ..."

Charlie nodded passionately.

"The sex," Christi said. "Tell us the sex."

Scully smiled.

"Boy or girl?" Charlie asked, looking ready to leap into the air and do a dance no matter which way Scully answered.

Scully paused, biting back a grin.

"Don't keep them in suspense," Mulder said.

"It's a girl."

XXX

Less than four weeks later, on November 1st, Scully and Mulder were jogging down the busy corridors of the local hospital, having been summoned back from work with the news that Christi had gone into a fast labour, her water breaking on the kitchen floor. They found the maternity ward, and jogged to a halt as they met up with Anne, Jack, John, Monica and Mrs Scully, who were sitting on the lounge chairs anxiously waiting.

"How is she?" Scully asked, trying to ignore a nurse who stared at them as she walked past. They were still quite famous.

"She's still in delivery," Jack said. "You might as well sit down."

Scully spotted the anxiety on Anne's face, and touched her shoulder as she walked past and settled herself on the arm of the chair Monica and John were sharing. Mulder stood beside her, but did not sit down.

"She should've given birth by now," Anne said, answering Scully's worried look. "Her contractions were so close, so quick ... I almost thought she was going to have it there in the house. Like I did with John."

"I'm sure it's okay," Monica said soothingly. "They're probably just cleaning them both up, making sure everything's okay, or moving her to a room ..."

"We would've heard if there'd been complications," Mrs Scully said confidently, and it was this advice that relaxed Anne a little, as she had had four of her own as well as helping Tara with all three of hers. She knew everything there was to know about pregnancy, giving birth and babies.

"You're right," Anne said. She sighed and leaned back in her chair, trying to relax. Jack squeezed her hand.

And as if by providence, at that moment a nurse appeared.

"You can see her now," she said, smiling down at them.

"She's okay?" Monica asked.

"Mother and baby are both fine and healthy. It's a gorgeous little girl."

They had already known this, and yet hearing it caused elation all the same. Christi was okay, the little baby was okay, and with broad smiles and looks of delighted relief, they all quickly got to their feet, thanked the nurse, and took the directions down the corridor to the private room they found at the far end. Stepping inside, they saw an exhausted looking Christi holding a tiny baby in her arms, Charlie sitting beside them both on the bed, also looking exhausted but over the moon at the same time.

"Mom," Christi said, smiling up through her sleepy tears. "Look at her ... she's beautiful ..."

They all entered the room, crowding around her bed and peering at the tiny baby cuddled into her arms. She was wide awake, and peered up at everyone with curiosity. She had inherited Anne and Christi's clear blue eyes, and she also had Christi's skin. But Scully was surprised to see she had a fuzz of red hair. She was clearly Charlie's daughter.

"Oh my God ..." Anne said, glowing as she sat on the edge of the bed and reached to gently touch her granddaughter as she hugged and kissed Christi.

"She's amazing ..." Monica exclaimed, lost for words. "Those eyes ..."

"Look at her, she's curious," Jack said. "Wondering who we are."

Charlie kissed Christi on the temple again, his fingers stroking his tiny daughter's cheek.

"She's beautiful," John said, as Christi beamed at the praise and was overwhelmed with love for her new daughter.

"Can we hold her?" Anne asked.

"Yeah," Christi said, beaming as she carefully passed her over into Anne's arms.

"She definitely has your hair," Anne said to Charlie.

"She's a Scully," Jack said generously. "She's going to be as stunning as Dana."

"Christi's eyes," Mrs Scully said, returning the generosity. "And your complexion."

Anne rocked the baby in her arms, smiling down as the blue eyes looked curiously up at her.

"Hey, I'm your Grandma," Anne said, beaming. "Your Mom's Mom. And this is your Grandpa, and your other Grandma, and Aunt Dana, Uncle Mulder, Aunt Monica and Uncle John ..."

Scully watched as the baby girl's eyes locked onto her, and she felt heart immediately tug powerfully.

"That's your Aunt Dana," Charlie told her. "Your smart Aunt Dana."

"What are you gonna call her?" John asked.

Christi and Charlie looked at each other.

"You had a few names prepared," Scully reminded them.

"We had Abby and Emily," Christi recalled.

"She doesn't look like an Emily," Charlie said gently.

"What about Abby?" Christi asked him.

Charlie looked uncomfortable, as if he didn't like it but couldn't bring himself to say so.

"It's too many Ys," Monica said, saving him the trouble. "Abby Scully doesn't flow."

"No, it doesn't sound right, does it?" Christi agreed.

"What about Olivia?" Christi suggested, as Anne passed the baby around to Mrs Scully. "Or Danielle?"

"No," Charlie said gently. His eyes were locked onto his daughter.

"You don't like them?" Christi asked.

"No, they're okay names, it's just -"

He broke off, looking unsure how to express his thoughts. He looked slightly troubled.

"Just what?" Christi asked lovingly, squeezing the hand she was holding.

"I just -" Charlie shook his head in awe. "I just thought she'd be blonde."

Christi gave him a blank, confused look. Scully, however, understood perfectly. The laws of genetics had dictated that it was a long shot that the baby would have red hair, as red hair was a recessive gene which only took hold when both genes passed down red hair. So the odds had been that the child would have had Christi's fluffy blonde hair. One of Jack's sisters, however, was a redhead, and it was apparent now that both he and Christi carried the red hair as a recessive gene.

"Does it matter?" Christi asked gently. "In choosing a name?"

"She just looks like Dad," Charlie said. "Like Dana."

Christi nodded in loving agreement, and reached out a hand to take her daughter's tiny fingers.

"She's gonna be smart," Charlie said, with utter certainty.

Christi nodded politely again. "And you don't like Olivia."

Charlie gave her an apologetic look. "You just can't conquer the world on a name like Olivia. She needs something smart. Something powerful."

Christi looked like she thought he was losing his mind, but she was sufficiently tired and overwhelmed with love for her daughter that she merely smiled.

"Mary," Charlie said.

"Mary?" Christi repeated, surprised.

"Your middle name," he explained. "And it's Catholic ..."

Christi looked back to her daughter. She looked unconvinced. "It's a little old-fashioned. As a middle name maybe, but as a first ..."

"We need a name dictionary," Monica suggested with a smile, as it became her turn to hold the baby, whom she took with a beaming smile.

And as Scully stood next to Monica and reached to touch her niece, she found Charlie's eyes staring at her.

"What?" she asked.

"Catherine," he said. "With a C."

"Catherine with a C," Christi repeated, trying the name. "Catherine Scully."

He nodded, and looked excited, like this was the definitive answer he had been searching for.

"Catherine Mary Scully."

"Catherine Mary," Christi said again, and looked up at everyone else for opinions.

"She definitely looks like a Catherine," John said. "It fits her."

"It's a nice name," Anne added. "I can see her as a Catherine."

Christi said nothing for a moment and Scully could see her still running the name over in her mind and attaching it to her cute little red-haired, blue-eyed daughter.

"I kinda like Catherine," she said at last, smiling up at Charlie.

Charlie smiled wide, and Christi inclined her head to kiss him.

"We'll name the next one Olivia," Charlie promised, overwhelmed with gratitude at her compromise. "Or any name you want."

"No, I kinda like Catherine," Christi said, as Monica passed her to Scully, and Scully took the tiny bundle into her arms. "It's growing on me. Catherine Mary Scully."

And Scully took little Catherine into her arms, and stared into her blue eyes, which seemed to be almost studying her. And in that moment, Scully understood precisely what had overcome Charlie. Catherine was a Scully. It was not just her red hair, but something in her gaze. It almost seemed like she was trying to make sense of the world around her, and her heart felt an overwhelming pull as she recognised herself in this little girl, in both appearance and manner ... Catherine was an intelligent Scully, the granddaughter of Captain Scully.

"Dana, are you all right?"

She felt Monica's arm slip around her, heard the concern in her voice.

"Mulder, I-"

She felt Mulder touch her on her other side, and then his hand rubbing her back as Scully felt a tear fall from her eye.

"It's okay," he said softly to her. "It's okay ..."

And then she heard her mother's voice. "She looks exactly like you did as a baby. Precisely the same."

"We're going to need your help raising her, Dana," Christi said.

Scully looked up at her, astonished, but Christi was sincere as she smiled at her through her tears, looking touched by what she had just witnessed. Charlie was hugging her from behind, their hands joined.

And Scully cried. Because it seemed incredible somehow, that not only did she have a room full of loving family, and a beautiful new niece, but also Christi and Charlie who understood her pain and were inviting her to share the parenting experience with them.

"Catherine Scully," Christi said, with a final tone. "After her Aunt, Dana Katherine Scully."

* * *

_You have no idea the trouble I had coming up with a name for this little girl. Every other child in this story (most of which haven't appeared yet), their names fell into place with the first idea. I think this girl had about twenty names before I finally settled on Catherine, which is the only one that even remotely fits her later character._

_I really can't believe the amount of ground I covered in this chapter, but I'm quite proud of it, really, with the depth of detail in some scenes, especially the one where they're unpacking. It feels good to me. I am guilty, though, of having wanted badly to get this story moving, as it's shifting gear now from the direct trauma on the four of them, to the impact on the next generation and the future lives of the four heroes. I'm feeling good about it, although it is starting to wind down a little. I have the ending mapped out now._

_I'm thinking of doing a large time jump here, and skipping D/R's wedding. If you can't live without it, you'd better let me know right about now._

_Anna xoxo_


	38. Chapter 38

**_Chapter 69 - The Passing of Time_**

The days and seasons rolled past, and with them came constant change. Scully, walking along the sand outside their beachfront mansion on the Georgia coastline nearly four years later, found it almost hard to believe how their lives had been in those dark days. So much had happened since then, and the united, domestic bliss the family now enjoyed had started with the birth of Catherine. It had been only three weeks after that happy event that Monica and John had tied the knot, starting on the path to creating their own family. The wedding had been large, including everyone from Anne and Jack's families, and also Bill, Tara and the three children from San Diego. It had been a blissfully perfect wedding, and it was hard to tell who had enjoyed it the most. Monica and John were both beaming as Scully had never seen them beam before, and Anne, too, had been radiant. The two new additions to the family - Sarah and Catherine - had also been a highlight as everyone fought to be introduced and for the chance to have a cuddle with the two new Scully girls. It had been a sad moment when the time came for Monica and John to part for their honeymoon, but Scully had kept her spirits up, wanting the two to enjoy their day, and in the end the parting was managed, though the honeymoon had involved constant calls from Monica and John to cope with the separation.

It was barely six weeks later - two days before Christmas - that Monica announced she was pregnant. It had been expected by everyone, and yet Scully had still felt surprise when the time came, and also a degree of sadness at her own inability to follow them - and Christi and Charlie - on this path of welcoming children. But Monica, John and Mulder had all been understanding, and after a lengthy late night counselling session with Deirdre, Scully had eventually come to terms with her feelings and in the days following, her sadness dissipated until she could barely remember it ever being there. Part of this was due to the fact that the two sets of parents ensured her and Mulder were never left out. Christi and Charlie had encouraged Scully's bonding with Catherine, and the relationship flourished. The bond was unlike anything Scully had ever experienced with a child - even Matthew, Lizzie and Sarah. They were alike, and Catherine's fascination with Scully had been evident from the start - her blue eyes so often locked onto Scully whenever she walked across the room, and wriggling in Christi and Charlie's arms as she pointed to her. Scully delighted in the relationship just as much as Catherine did, and never tired of holding her, feeding or changing her, or comforting her as she cried. It had not been long before Christi and Charlie announced Scully and Mulder as Catherine's guardians in the event of their demise. Scully was also the one who had taken Catherine for a few days when Christi and Charlie finally got married the following April.

The major hurdle in those early days had been the arrival of the first anniversary of the crash in January. It was always this time of year that hurt most for the survivors, and the first anniversary had been the hardest, not only for the memories it provoked, but for the fact that Monica's nine week pregnancy had prevented their attendance. John, Scully and Mulder had all vetoed this, as to travel to the memorial service in Washington would put far too much stress on the pregnancy, and it would be a miracle if she came through those weeks as it was, the stress of their memories were so powerful and their emotional relapses so regular and powerful that Deirdre's presence in those weeks was constant. So in the end they had apologised for their non-attendance, and sent a video message to Jana Cassidy that was played at St Paul's Cathedral to the hundreds of mourners. It was also at this time that Monica finally officially resigned from the FBI, and only a month later when Scully and Mulder announced they were moving out. It was only next door - as Mulder had again bought out the neighbours, in this case the house between their own and Anne and Jack's, securing a line of four houses side by side that were owned by the family. It was Monica who had been upset by their desire to go, and had at first flatly told them they weren't going anywhere. But Scully, teary-eyed, had explained that they had to. With the imminent arrival of Monica and John's first child, both Scully and Mulder had felt it was time to step back and let Monica and John have their own house for their family. And so it was with tears and awkwardness all around that the four finally parted, and Scully and Mulder gathered their possessions and shifted into the house next door. But though they moved, the bond between the four remained as strong as ever.

Monica gave birth in the heat of August, and the family welcomed Lily Doggett into the world. She was the perfect combination of both her parents, and had Monica's brown hair and John's soft blue eyes. She grew to be like Monica in personality, and was an enormously affectionate and kind-natured child, and Monica and Lily developed the tightest mother-daughter bond Scully had ever seen. But the family had barely welcomed Lily before they were blessed with another addition. Christi fell pregnant again after her April marriage and honeymoon with Charlie, and it was in early December that Chloe Scully was born. Chloe, unlike her older sister, took after Christi, and the resemblance was astonishing. She had her wavy blonde hair and clear blue eyes, and was an extremely cute child. She also had an ever-present mischievous smile that was reminiscent of Charlie when he had been young. But she was a Doggett by looks and nature, just as much as Catherine was a Scully.

The family had now had five girls in a row - Lizzie, Sarah, Catherine, Lily and Chloe - and Scully was therefore not surprised that Charlie and John were showing signs of craving a boy. And as if by providence, two sons followed. First came Nathan Doggett, two years after his older sister, and then only a few months later, Lachlan Scully. Nathan shared Lily's looks, made up of Monica's brown hair and John's blue eyes, and now Monica and John had one child of each gender their family was complete. Lachlan also had Christi's blonde hair and blue eyes, yet had Charlie's easygoing personality. And Christi and Charlie, too, now felt their family was complete.

Career-wise, other changes took place in-between the births of the five children. Mulder and John remained in their roles with the Atlanta field office, Mulder as a part time profiler, and John as a Health and Wellbeing Officer who oversaw the mentoring of Academy graduates each year, and also the fitness testing and rehabilitation of injured agents. Between these roles, he was kept busy for the majority of the year. Monica, too, was happy in her role of managing the four's finances, which had now grown to nearly three hundred million, and was climbing steadily. But it was Scully who had faltered in her career, and within two years of taking on her part time role as a scientist and doctor with the field office, grew unhappy with its stale routine. It was Mulder who had seen she was unhappy, and had broached the conversation as they laid awake in bed late one night after making love, and Scully had admitted that the job was no longer satisfying her. In the beginning she had sought this role to prove to herself that she could recover from what had happened, and the FBI with its thousands of pained fellow agents was a workplace that understood her issues. But once she had accomplished her reintegration into the FBI, there was little left to do, and the lack of challenge left her feeling hollow and empty. At Mulder's advice, Scully had sought Deirdre's help, and after some counselling and enquiries, she found a position at an elite university Medical School in Atlanta, teaching forensic pathology to medical students. And so it was with a feeling of trepidation that Scully scaled down her role at the FBI to being merely available as an expert consult, and took up the position at the Medical School where she could stretch her intellectual muscles.

She was not, however, the only one in the family who had concerns over career direction, as Charlie too, began to seek something to do with himself. He was loving fatherhood, and yet he was a Scully by nature, and this alone was not enough. Everyone had been surprised when he expressed an interest in becoming a teacher like Christi, and enquired as to undertaking the necessary training. But train he did, and the family quickly saw that he was a duck to water. He was a natural with children, and also smart enough that he was a superb teacher. Schools, too, were craving male teachers, and at the conclusion of his study he found a job with ease. But though they all found careers, the focus remained on family. One consequence of this had been the beach front mansion - the one splurge the four of them indulged in. It was large enough to fit the entire family in over the summer, and it was only a few steps down to the waves that lapped onto the long stretch of warm sand. It was also secluded, which was important to protect themselves from the ever-watchful media.

It was on this beach that Scully now walked in the glow of the morning sunrise. Catherine, now three and a half, walked beside her with her small hand held in Scully's, her long red hair shining in the morning light. These morning walks along the beach, just the two of them, had become a special summer routine. The family now had five children under four, and though love was in abundance Scully and Catherine both loved slipping out of the house early every morning to have a long quiet walk together and escape the frequent chaos of the babies Lachlan and Nathan, and of the terrible twos that had hit Lily and Chloe.

This morning they had been up to the rock pools along the headland, and Scully had held her hand as they explored some of the small marine life that had been left there as the tide went out, and Scully pointed out and named each life form and how it lived, and Catherine listened with intellectual interest and asked endless questions, the majority of which started with "why" or "how". It was this that characterised her, and what made her so different to her siblings and cousins. While Chloe was occupied with the prettiness of shells, and of zooming up and down the sand until she exhausted herself, and while Lily enjoyed playing in the tide with John, giggling as he held her as the cool waves splashed her knees, Catherine wanted to understand why the tide moved in and out, what the life forms in the rock pools lived on, and why the moon was present some nights and not others and varied in shape. It was this constant questioning that Christi and Charlie struggled to keep up with, being so frequently run down with Chloe and Lachlan and yet striving to give their eldest child equal time. Yet so many of Catherine's questions defied their understanding anyway that both parents frequently said, "I'm not sure, why don't you ask Aunt Dana?" and seized the opportunity to let Scully bond with her while providing their daughter with some intellectual stimulation.

"Do we have to go back?"

Scully smiled as Catherine gave her a pleading look as they walked slowly toward the steps that led to their house.

"I think we'd better have some breakfast," Scully said. "Aren't you hungry?"

Catherine shrugged as they approached the door.

Scully held in a smile as she opened it.

"Hey," Charlie said, smiling up at them as he poured himself some cereal at the kitchen bench. On the couch Anne was contentedly holding baby Lachlan, bottle feeding him. Across the room John was doing the same with Nathan. "Did you have a good walk?"

"Yes," Catherine answered, as Scully led her across to the kitchen.

"What did you see?" Mulder asked, touching her shoulder fondly, though Catherine still held tight to Scully's hand in adoration, not yet willing to let her idol go. Scully often worked long hours at the Medical School, and these summer breaks when she was constantly available were precious to Catherine.

"A starfish," Catherine answered, as Charlie poured her some breakfast cereal and dug in the drawer for a spoon.

"Wow," Monica said, smiling and looking impressed. "What was it like?"

"It was brown, and it had a _water vascular system_."

"A what?" Charlie asked.

"It's a system of _locomotion_," Catherine said, smiling as though he was stupid. "And it had five arms and it can regrow them."

"Wow," Mulder said, looking impressed and throwing Scully a look of approval at how Catherine was talking like an accomplished scientist at just three years of age. "You'll have to show us that."

Catherine glowed with pride, but at that moment Lily arrived, walking calmly out of the hallway dressed in purple pants with flowers on them and a light purple top with a big love heart on the front. The three young girls shared a bedroom in the beach house, and while Catherine took enormous pride in the fact that she was mature enough to get herself dressed and brush her own hair, Christi and Monica took turns in getting the other two organised, and it was Christi's turn this morning.

Lily, smiling shyly, headed straight for Monica and wrapped her arms tight around her thigh. Monica ran her hand through her small daughter's shoulder-length brown hair and knelt down to give her a big hug. In a second Lily was climbing onto her bent knee, beaming at having Monica's full attention away from her baby brother Nathan.

Charlie handed Catherine her cereal bowl just as an almighty screaming tantrum split the air and Scully looked up in time to hear a thunder of pounding little feet and as Chloe emerged from the hallway in floods of tears, naked except for a tiny pair of pink underwear, and clutching a bright pink shirt in her hands. Speedily dodging all the other adults in the room, she bolted for Monica, blonde waves bouncing and face wet with agony.

"CHLOE!"

Christi's disciplinary call rang out from the hallway and Scully heard her marching back toward them.

"Clo," Charlie echoed firmly, heading toward her, but in floods of tantruming tears, Chloe leapt into the protection of Monica's arms. Lily glared at her, immediately jealous of her cousin stealing her Mommy's attention. But Scully knew, as they all did, why Chloe headed for Monica. Monica was the weak link in their disciplinary chain, and while every other adult was united in their rules and approaches to discipline, Monica was a softie and saw only tears and a cute child who looked miserable.

"What's wrong?" Monica asked, as Chloe forced her way onto Monica's other knee. Monica, aware this was annoying Lily, held Lily closer while also slipping her other arm around the sobbing Chloe.

"Chloe?"

Christi rounded the corner and came to a halt as she spotted Chloe in Monica's arms. She shared a look with Charlie. A pair of blue jeans and a butterfly t-shirt were hanging from her hand as Chloe clutched the pink shirt which Scully recognised as her favourite and the one they struggled to get an opportunity to wash.

"I don't want to wear that!" Chloe sobbed, crying for all she was worth.

Christi sighed as she crouched down beside them. She tried to ease Chloe out of the desperate grip she had on Monica, but Chloe was resistant.

"You can't wear that," Christi said, indicating Chloe's favourite pink shirt. "We need to wash it."

"But -"

"It's dirty and it smells," Christi pointed out.

Chloe scrunched up her teary face and gave her mother an angry look.

"And don't look to Aunt Monica for help, she agrees with me," Christi said firmly. "It won't kill you to wear something else for a day."

"I want pink!" Chloe pleaded miserably.

Monica managed to take the pink shirt in question and lifted it to her nose. She immediately grimaced and held it away.

"Your Mom's right," Monica said gently. "We need a chance to wash this."

Chloe sobbed pathetically as she tried to grasp the shirt back from Monica.

"I want pink," Chloe pleaded again, more tears falling as she played her adorability for all she was worth.

"We'll buy you more pink," Monica promised, rubbing her bare back. "But in the meantime we need to wash this. You can have it back in an hour. Okay?"

Chloe raised her teary eyes to look at Monica, and then, all signs of upset evaporating on the spot, she gave a smile.

"Now put those clothes on," Monica said, "and we'll wash this."

Triumphant, Chloe obediently went to Christi, as Christi threw Monica a look. Scully knew Christi maintained that they shouldn't get into the habit of spoiling Chloe by buying her new pink clothes just because she didn't want to wear blue, while Monica said that she would grow out of it soon enough as it was, it wouldn't do any real harm, and it wasn't like they couldn't afford it.

Charlie, however, looked as though he hadn't understood any of it at all, and appeared out of his depth as to why his daughter was obsessed with pink - a viewpoint that was shared by Catherine, who was watching her sister being dressed by Christi with look of slight puzzlement.

"Let's get something to eat," Monica said to Lily, and stood up, walking her clinging daughter over to the kitchen as John joined them, carrying Nathan. "And maybe afterwards Catherine might show us her starfish."

XXX

It was late afternoon when Scully found some time to herself, slipping away to the upstairs corner study with the intention of getting some work done. She had several of the latest issues of medical journals that she subscribed to stacked up on the desk, having not yet having time to read them, and also had to revise her lecture notes for the coming semester. But she found it hard to concentrate, and despite sitting there for nearly half an hour, got little done except to gaze out the window at the beach below, where Mulder was taking a restless Chloe and Lily for an evening play on the sand, one little girl in each hand. He was king of the kids, and had taken to his role as Uncle with no shortage of enthusiasm. Mulder was the fun one, full of jokes, tickles and funny faces, and always available to play any game the kids wanted.

Overall, he was happy, just as Monica and John had also found happiness in their two children. But nevertheless the sadness from their tragedy always lingered, and it was times like these when their hectic world slowed down enough for Scully to catch her breath that it all crept in again. It had been nearly four and a half years now, and it was strange that that tragedy had ended with them all sitting on this sunny beach in a mansion none of them could have previously dreamt of and with a close family second to none. And yet Scully remembered those who had not made it to this happy ending, who should be playing down there on the beach with them. She still saw Holly, envisaged Kim and Skinner standing down there on the sand there with them, gazing out at the dying sun glistening on the ocean. But no, they were dead. Brutally dead, horrifically dead in those unforgiving frozen mountaintops in remote Canada.

Sighing, Scully dabbed her fingertip at a tear she felt slip out, as they often did for all four survivors. A few years ago now Deirdre had talked to them about this lingering pain, and told them to understand that they should never expect it to disappear. When the children had been born she had been careful to insist that the four survivors still allocated time for each other, and while they had to put on a brave face for the sake of the five kids, to not destroy themselves in the effort to constantly keep it up. They had to take time for this pain, to spend time with each other to continue to cope with it. One thing Deirdre had strictly enforced was the annual anniversary of the tragedy. They had missed the first one due to Monica being pregnant with Lily, but every subsequent January the four of them made the pilgrimage to Washington, where they stayed a few nights and indulged in this pain. It had been agony for Monica at first, to part from her children, but the advantage of their close family was that this was not overly difficult on the kids, and after several days living through it all again and crying a thousand tears, the four had sufficient emotional release to return to the kids in Atlanta and go on pretending another few months.

Of course, it was always there, and they frequently had to allocate time during their everyday lives whenever one of them found it particularly difficult. It was especially hard now that the three girls were understanding more of the world around them, and the pain became increasingly hard to hide. But it was in these times - like now - that Scully slipped away to somewhere quiet. Often Mulder came with her, and held her in his arms or made love with her. Other times it was Monica who found it to be too hard, and excused herself upstairs for a little while, explaining to Lily that she had a headache, or that they "weren't feeling well", and Lily understood this much and was looked after by the rest of the family for a while.

Dabbing away another stray tear, Scully gave up on concentrating on her studies, and instead slipped a newspaper clipping from the back of one of her books. It was a page from after they had been found, and showed a photo of the crash site, and FBI portrait photos of the dead. Though she knew every inch of these faces, her dead colleagues, she always found herself staring at them again, tallying their unknowing content faces with the tears, anger and numb disbelief she had witnessed on their faces on the mountain.

Suddenly there was a creaking floorboard behind her chair, and Scully jolted and her eyes shot up to see Catherine standing only a foot away, having silently crept in. Catherine immediately froze, looking nervous at the tears in Scully's eyes, and the trails of the few that had slid down her face. Scully's heart thumped as she knew her niece had seen the clipping.

Scully opened her mouth, but words failed her, and before she could decide Catherine had turned and her small form was hurrying out of the room.

"Catherine," Scully said, but her words did not reach her niece, and Scully was greeted with silence, knowing she had already headed back downstairs.

And before Scully could do anything more, she heard several adults hurrying up the stairs, and she glanced out the window to see Anne and Jack walking down the sand toward Mulder, who was now building a sandcastle with Lily and Chloe.

"Dana."

Monica and John had entered the room, looking concerned.

"Catherine told us you're crying," Monica said.

Scully gave them an apologetic look as Christi joined them.

"She saw me. She saw the clipping. I didn't hear her coming."

"It's okay," Monica said soothingly, reaching for her and giving her a warm hug. "It's okay ..."

Scully felt Christi's hand on her shoulder as well as Monica hugged her.

Another set of footsteps sounded and Scully pulled away to see Mulder entering the room.

"I'm okay," Scully assured them all. She linked hands with Mulder as he ducked and kissed her forehead.

There was an awkward pause.

"She definitely saw the clipping?" John asked at last.

Scully nodded. She did not doubt it, her niece was such a sharp observer and so intelligent.

"I'm sorry," Scully told Christi again. "I should've closed the door."

She felt guilty. They had never talked to the kids about what had happened, and three and a half was not the age that Scully had planned on broaching the subject.

"Dana, don't be sorry," Christi said warmly, standing beside her and putting a warm arm around her shoulders. "It had to come up eventually, and it's probably a good thing it has. You know how smart she is. We can't hide it from her."

"She's three years old," Monica interrupted. "You can't go telling her that the woman she idolises more than anyone else on the planet was the victim of a plane crash, watched eighteen people die and then ate their bodies."

"No, we can't," Christi agreed. "But we can do what Bill and Tara did. We can say something bad happened and that it makes you feel sad sometimes. She'll understand that, and we don't have to give any more details."

There was a pause. Scully glanced around at Mulder, Monica and John. Eventually Mulder nodded.

"Charlie and I will have a talk with her," Christi said. "In the meantime maybe you should take some time. Go for a walk up the beach perhaps. We'll watch Nathan and Lily for a while."

John gave an agreeable nod. Scully felt his concerned eyes still resting on her. The fact that she had been crying alone had not been entirely eclipsed by Catherine's discovery.

"Let's go," Mulder said, tugging lovingly on her hand.

Scully stepped forward with him, joined by a still worried Monica and John, and the four of them headed down to the beach wondering how their three year old niece was going to take the news.

XXX

When they returned nearly an hour later, the house was uncharacteristically quiet. Baby Nathan was on a colourful rug on the floor, surrounded by a circle of toys and being entertained by Jack sitting next to him. Lachlan was in Charlie's arms, his fuzz of blonde hair leaning against Charlie's strong shoulder, just about asleep. Anne had taken the opportunity to put her feet up and was reading a magazine with a cup of coffee in one hand.

"The three wise monkeys are in the bath," Jack said, as Monica crouched beside him and gave her son a kiss as he smiled at her.

Scully gave Charlie a questioning look.

"She's fine," he replied. "Ten out of ten."

"She's not upset?" Mulder asked.

"She saw no reason to be. She just thinks you're heroes. She's only going to worship you all the more."

Scully felt a little relieved, though at the same time knew it would not be long before Catherine began to realise the things that they were still hiding from her. But for now ...

"Why don't you go in?" Anne suggested. "She'll want to see you. I think she was worried you were angry with her for wandering in, that she did the wrong thing."

Scully left the others and wandered upstairs toward the bathroom. She heard them before she reached them, the sound of splashing water and Chloe saying, "And this ... and this is your crown ..." and rounded the doorway into the bright bathroom to find Lily, Chloe and Catherine all sitting in a bubble bath surrounded by boats, ducks and measuring cups, and Chloe taking handfuls of bubbles and carefully arranging them onto the top of Lily's brown hair in a crown.

"And you're a princess," she finished, as Christi sat beside the bath, looking heavily amused. Both Lily and Chloe were covered in bubbles from head to toe. Bath time at the summer beach house was play time, and any washing that happened was incidental.

Up the far end of the bath however, Catherine sat quietly watching them, and her eyes lit up as she spotted Scully in the doorway. She smiled and sat up a little straighter.

"Hi," Scully said brightly, as Christi threw her a reassuring wink that said everything had gone okay. Scully crossed to Catherine's end of the bath, and knelt down beside it. She immediately spotted her niece's nervous smile, and quickly reassured her by leaning over and giving her a kiss on the cheek and stroking back her long red hair, the ends of which were dangling into the bath bubbles. "Are you okay?"

Grinning at Scully's affection, Catherine nodded. "Yes."

The look on her face was unmistakable adoration. Charlie evidently hadn't been lying when he had said that it had only made her worship her more. There were several more things Scully wanted to ask, but in the presence of Lily and Chloe, she was cautious.

"Mom, can I get out now?" Catherine asked, casting Christi a pleading look.

"Are you clean?" Christi asked.

Catherine nodded.

"All over?" Christi pressed. "Legs, feet, bottom..?"

"Yes," Catherine said, and keenly stood up, the water falling from her, but several patches of bubbles lingering.

"Come here," Scully said, and warmly picked her up and lifted her over the edge of the bath. Catherine held onto her even once Scully had set her down, and Scully reached for a white towel off the rack and wrapped it around her small naked body, rubbing through the towel to pick up the water drops, and giving her grinning niece a warm cuddle.

At the same time Chloe, who was still full of restless energy, launched a tiny, bubbled foot over the edge of the bath. Christi, grinning, quickly poked her sole, and Chloe lapsed into delighted giggles. She sank beneath the water level and emerged a moment later covered in bubbles. Lily giggled at the sight as she played with one of the floating ducks, having gathered the flock in front of her.

"Come on," Christi said, brushing the bubbles from her daughter's giggling face. "I want the two of you to start washing."

Scully pulled apart from her cuddle with Catherine, and glanced around at the bench tops for her niece's pyjamas.

"Where are your pyjamas?" Scully asked. "Are they still in your room?"

"They're under my pillow," Catherine said.

"Okay," Scully said. "Come here then."

And Catherine beamed as Scully picked her up in the towel and carried her all the way up the hallway to the girls' bedroom. It was a small room, a set of bunk beds against one wall and a single against the other. Lily had the single, and it was draped in a purple bedspread with a family of unicorns on the front. Chloe had the lower bunk, and it had a bright pink barbie bedspread. Catherine, as the oldest, had the privilege of the top bunk and Scully stepped onto the ladder for a moment to fetch her niece's pyjamas from under her perfectly neat pillow.

Catherine stood still as Scully finished drying her off with the towel, rubbing the damp ends of her long red hair, and then helped her on with her pyjamas and buttoning the buttons. When done, Scully folded the towel and then reached for Catherine, sitting down on Lily's bed and pulling Catherine into her lap. She glanced at the empty doorway, double-checking they were alone, but she could still hear the giggles of Chloe and Lily in the bath. There was no danger.

"Did your Mom and Dad have a talk with you?"

"Yes," Catherine replied.

"And what did they say?"

"They said you were in a plane crash with Uncle Mulder, Aunt Monica and Uncle John and that you walked and walked and walked until you found people again. And they said that's how they met and that you feel sad sometimes but it's okay."

Scully nodded, noting the complete absence of any references to dead bodies, or who those people in the newspaper clipping had been. She had apparently not yet made the connection.

"Well I want you to know you did the right thing, okay?" Scully assured her. "If that ever does happen again - if you see one of us looking a bit sad - just go tell your Mom or Dad. And it's nothing to worry about. We're always going to be okay, and we're very, very happy."

Catherine nodded contently.

"Do you have any questions?"

Catherine shook her head.

"Give me a cuddle."

Catherine happily obliged, stretching up and putting her arms around Scully's neck, and Scully held her close, kissing her on the cheek and stroking back her long hair.

"I love you," Scully whispered, holding her tight.

"I love you too," came the sweet reply over her shoulder, and Scully nearly cried again.

XXX

It was ten years of bliss later that Scully entered Anne and Jack's kitchen on a Tuesday evening after work. Tuesday was the night when the whole family came together for dinner, and the one night when both Scully and Mulder were sure to leave work on time in order to be there. In all the chaos of their everyday lives, family was still their absolute number one priority.

"Hey," she said, sharing a kiss with Mulder as she dropped her car keys on the bench.

"You're late," he commented, hand resting on her lower back.

"Traffic was bad," Scully explained. "And I had trouble getting away - every time I went to slip out the door I was anchored by another student with more questions."

She glanced out around the living room. Catherine was seated in a lounge chair, focusing intently on a game of chess on the coffee table, Charlie having challenged her to a game. She was thirteen now, and had grown up to be every bit as stunning as the family had predicted. She had inherited Christi's athletic figure, and her long red hair flowed softly down her back. She had also eased into puberty in the last few months, and was beginning to develop in the chest, causing Christi to take her bra shopping several weeks ago. At school she was excelling. All five children went to the same elite private Catholic school only twenty minutes away, and Catherine had taken to education like a duck to water. Within only a few weeks into her first year of school she had been placed into the gifted and talented program, and not long after had expressed a desire in growing up to be a doctor like Scully. She was now also on the debating team and the chess team, and was the school's representative in the Georgia State Chess Championships on Saturday.

It was this that was the current topic of conversation as Scully fetched herself a glass of water, as Nathan and Lachlan were hovering in the kitchen, both looking unimpressed at having to give up a Saturday to go into the city and watch Catherine battle out a game of chess.

"Do we have to go?" Nathan asked his parents. At ten years of age, he still looked like both of his parents. He had Monica's brown hair, John's eyes, and while he had Monica's gentle personality, he was energetic and sporty. It was basketball that was his own hobby. He and Lachlan were both on the same team and played every Thursday night. John was the team coach.

"Don't be so mean," Lily said, who was now twelve and leaning against Monica, who had her arms looped around her daughter's front. The two were as close as ever, and Lily's heart of gold had not become tainted as she grew older. She was a gem. Her one trouble was with what Monica and John had been through all those years ago. The kids all knew roughly what had happened now, but the subject had never been broached between John and Monica and their two kids. Partly this was because Monica and John both found it so difficult to talk about, and put all their energy into enabling their kids to have a normal happy life and not inherit the horror. When they were struck down by their post traumatic stress, they slipped away to Mulder and Scully's house, or upstairs to have a lie down, and during a few bad times had sent Lily and Nathan to stay the night with Christi and Charlie. Part of the reason also was that Lily and Nathan had expressed no desire to know the horrific details, and when their parents were upset Lily was so worried that she was often on the verge of tears. They knew Lily and Nathan were scared of what their parents had been through, and did no digging for fear of what they would find. But for the four survivors, this was more than understandable, and they protected the kids as far as they could.

"She went to your basketball final," John told his son.

"But it's _chess_," Lachlan complained, screwing up his nose in disgust.

"I don't care if it's a staring competition," Christi said at once. "She's your sister, this means a lot to her, and if you want to be a part of this family you can come and support her."

This quietened the two boys, although they both still looked like they dreaded it. But they were saved from further scrutiny as Chloe entered the room. Like her cousin Lily, she was now twelve and in the same year at school. The two had grown up as best friends, and were both at the centre of a popular group of girls. But as all the children edged toward their teen years, it was Chloe whom Christi fretted about. She was extremely attractive with her athletic figure, pale skin, blonde hair and blue eyes, and had an active love for life that was at times hard to keep up with. And yet she was now beginning to show signs of interest in the opposite sex, and Christi was playing her cards carefully, remembering her own conflicts with Anne during her teen years. She was playing a very careful game of trying to steer her daughter without appearing to have any hand in it. But all the same, at the boys' basketball final Chloe's attention had strayed to another court where a group of boys' from her and Lily's school year were battling it out against the opposition. She had leaned into Lily sitting on the bench beside her and whispered something with a grin, and the two had giggled as they watched the twelve year olds in the corner. No one had needed a guess as to what they had whispered about, and the ordinary parental worries were amplified by the extreme wealth the family held - which was now close to a billion dollars. Monica had warned them of the possibility of fortune hunters.

"Mom, can we have a sleepover next Saturday?" Chloe asked.

"Who's 'we'?"

"Just me, Lily, and a few others."

"Just Jess, Taylah and Dani?" Christi enquired, reeling off a few of Chloe and Lily's closest friends who often came around after school and on weekends.

"And Bree, Liv, Em, Charlotte and Isa," Lily added.

"That's ten," Monica pointed out.

"But can we?" Chloe asked.

Monica and Christi looked at each other.

"We won't make a mess," Lily promised. "We'll clean everything up and you won't have to do anything."

"We can't leave anyone out or it'd be really mean," Chloe said.

"Where are you going to put everyone?" Christi asked.

"In the living room," Lily answered. "In sleeping bags."

Again, Christi and Monica exchanged a look.

"Okay," Monica agreed, smiling down at her daughter with an air of 'you only live once'.

Lily beamed. "And can we get pizza?"

"We'll get you pizza," Christi agreed with a smile.

"Cool," Chloe said. "Thanks Mom!"

And looking delighted, she sped off out of the room, where Scully suspected she would spread the news to her friends. Lily disengaged herself from Monica's arms and followed her.

Nathan and Lachlan both looked less than impressed at having a swarm of twelve year old giggling girls around, but they had already been admonished once in the last few minutes and settled for glaring.

"You can come stay with us if you like," Mulder offered.

"Can we?" Lachlan asked hopefully.

"Of course," Scully said, feeling for them.

"We'll have a guys night," Mulder offered. "Catch a game."

Both boys looked interested in this idea. Mulder was still the fun uncle, and had no shortage of time to spend with his nieces and nephews. He took them to the movies, bought them junk food, took them to sporting events or camping and fishing, and when Christmas and birthdays came around gave all the best presents.

At that moment Catherine came into the kitchen, taking a momentary break from her chess game with Charlie. Charlie was studying the board carefully, thinking through his position. She opened the fridge door and withdrew a bottle of fruit juice, pouring herself a drink.

"How's it going?" Christi asked her.

Catherine replaced the bottle in the fridge. She had an exhausted, sombre look on her face.

"Is Grandma coming on Saturday?"

"Absolutely. She said she'd be here Friday lunchtime," Christi assured her. "She's staying for two weeks."

Mrs Scully had never ended up settling permanently in Atlanta, as her ties in Washington were simply too strong. She had such a wide circle of friends and interests, and such a strong involvement in the church that her lifestyle there was hard to give up and though she felt the pull of family in both Atlanta and San Diego, had ended up compromising, and whilst she lived in Washington, regularly visited the two cities for several days or weeks on end, was always present for the kids' birthdays and Christmas, and every summer made it to the beach house to join them for at least part of their vacation. This time she had promised to be down to cheer Catherine on for her chess championship and was staying in the spare room of Mulder and Scully's house, which was her base when she drifted into town.

Catherine picked up her glass of juice, but she had a depressed look on her face.

"Are you all right?" Scully asked her, feeling her heart tug with concern.

"I'm fine," Catherine said, casting her a brief glance, but to Scully it almost seemed as if she was avoiding her eye.

"You'll be fine," Christi assured her. "Just do your best, and remember we're all proud of you no matter what."

Catherine nodded politely, and with this response Scully knew that the chess championships were not what was bothering her.

Mulder apparently had the same impression. "Is everything else okay? No problems at school?"

"It's fine," Catherine said, and avoiding their eyes, took her juice and went back to join Charlie in their chess game.

"Have we done something?" Scully asked Christi softly, feeling hurt that her niece wouldn't look at them.

"I've no idea," Christi said quietly, looking equally puzzled.

"It'll be nothing," John said. "Just the pressure. Maybe a bad mark at school."

Scully nodded, but her gaze found Catherine, who was focusing intently on the chess board, and could not help feeling that this was not the case.

* * *

_This chapter almost counts as an epilogue, as the focus shifts from the four survivors to the next generation. Catherine, and Scully's relationship with her, will form the centrepoint of the remainder of the story._


	39. Chapter 39

_Any men who might be reading this story might be more comfortable skipping this chapter. _

**_

* * *

_**

Chapter 70 - Catherine Mary Scully

"Mmm, what's cooking?"

It was lunchtime the following day and Scully stood at the kitchen stove, slowly stirring a saucepan of chicken soup. She looked around at Mulder's question, and saw him making his way down the stairs, dressed only in a pair of pyjama pants. He had risen very late, but he did not work Wednesdays and today Scully was working from home, slowly moving through a mountain of marking. The other reason had been their heavy dawn love-making. Scully had woken just before sunrise to find Mulder wide awake beside her, in a bout of restless insomnia. She had rolled over and put her arm across his bare chest and she had felt him sigh beneath her palm. She had asked if hadn't been able to sleep, and he had replied with a quip as to whether Doctor Scully had a cure. And Scully, smiling, said, "I may have..." and rolled over to kiss him firmly on the lips. A little while later, he had fallen into a heavy sleep which had now carried him all the way to lunchtime.

"Chicken soup," Scully replied, as he came up behind her and laid his hands on her hips, smelling the scent over her shoulder.

"Smells good," he said, sliding his hands further around to enclose her stomach as Scully turned her head to share a kiss. It was a rare moment that they had this level of privacy, as the entire family were out for the day. Christi and Charlie were both at work, teaching at their school, Christi now vice principal. John was also at work at the FBI field office, and Monica had gone into the city with Jack to look at an investment property that was up for sale. Anne was spending the day out with Jenny, and the five kids were all at school.

"You're not wearing our apron," Mulder said.

"It's your apron," Scully corrected, holding back a smile. The apron in question had been a recent birthday present for Mulder and had a picture of a woman's lingerie-clad body on the front. The present had been placed anonymously in Mulder's pile of presents from the family, and though all the adults in the family declared their innocence, Scully's suspicions were on Monica, Christi or Charlie. All three had mischievous streaks in them, though they usually only cracked these kinds of jokes when the kids weren't around. But apparently whoever it was now thought the kids were old enough to appreciate the joke, and this had been evidenced when Lachlan and Chloe burst into laughter, though Scully had been pleased to see that Catherine had looked disgusted.

"It's a gift," Mulder argued, nodding to where it lay folded on the bench - in the farthest corner Scully had been able to find.

"It's a gag," Scully corrected. "In both senses of the word."

"Are you jealous?" Mulder asked, sounding amused and pulling back his arms from her waist to scrutinise her eyes, with a lopsided smile.

"Mulder -"

She was saved as the phone rang, and settled for giving him a look as she crossed to pick it up.

"Scully."

Old habits died hard.

"Dana, it's me," came Christi's voice. "Listen, we need your help. We've just had a call from the kids' school. 

Apparently Catherine's sick, they say she fainted and she's in sick bay. Do you have time to -"

"I'll pick her up," Scully volunteered, feeling immediately worried, despite all of her medical training.

"Are you sure you have time, or -"

"I have time," Scully assured her.

"Thanks Dana," Christi said sincerely. "Can you call us when you know what's wrong?"

"Sure," Scully said. "But don't worry, I'll take care of her."

"I know you will," Christi replied, and Scully heard the smile in her voice.

The call ended. Scully set the phone down and immediately cast her eyes around for her car keys and wallet.

"Catherine's ill, I have to go get her."

Mulder nodded, having overheard the conversation.

A moment later, after finding her things, offering the chicken soup to Mulder and advising that he'd better shower before they returned, she was ready to leave.

"And Scully?"

She turned around, hand on the doorknob.

His eyes were twinkling. "You _were _jealous."

And again, Scully tried to hold her smile back, but this time she failed.

"I'll be back soon."

XXX

Fifteen minutes later Scully was marching down the busy school corridor, dodging crowds of students who were out for their lunchtime break. She had not bothered to drop in at the school office first, as she had been to the school enough times to know her way around - for end of year award presentations, for Lily's band performances, and a few times for parent-teacher interviews. So it was with ease that she found the sick bay, and entered off the corridor into a small room with white benches around two walls, and numerous posters on first aid procedures and asthma management. From this room two more doors led into the boys and girls sick areas, but Scully paused as a plump middle aged nurse came out of the boys' room.

"Hi, my name's Dana Scully, I'm here to pick up my niece Catherine?"

"Sure, if I can just get you to sign her out ..."

She pointed Scully to an open folder on the bench and Scully picked up the pen and quickly filled in the date, time, Catherine's name and their relationship.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"Apparently she fell sick in her science class," the nurse answered. "Her friends say she got up to collect her homework from the teacher and fainted on her way to the front desk."

"Did she lose consciousness?"

"They said she was out for a few seconds, then she woke up and they brought her here. It's not surprising. Those science rooms are notorious for being warm and she admits she skipped breakfast this morning. And with this heat wave we're having ..."

Scully nodded. "Can I see her?"

"Of course, she's just in here," the nurse said, leading Scully over the door that led to the girls' room and waving her in.

Scully paused a split second to allow her eyes to adjust to the dim light, as the vertical blinds on the window were shut, blocking out the bright sunlight. There were three beds in the room, and a door that led to the toilet, and on the farthest bed lay Catherine, lying on her side in her school uniform with a damp white cloth on her forehead. In the chair next to the head of the bed sat Lily, and at Catherine's legs sat Chloe, both having obviously heard the news and ducking in on their lunch break.

"Aunt Dana," Lily greeted, looking a little relieved.

Catherine's head turned on the pillow to look at her, and Scully saw she looked pale and miserable.

"Hi," Scully greeted softly, sitting down beside her and immediately taking her hand.

"Hi," Catherine replied weakly.

"She fainted in her science class," Chloe supplied. "They let us stay because we're family."

Scully nodded as she studied Catherine's state. She gripped her wrist and found her pulse to be steady. But her temperature was obviously elevated, as she had removed her school blazer, which was now hanging on the arm of Lily's chair, and was lying just in her school blouse and skirt even though the temperature in the room was comfortably cool. The cloth the nurse had applied to her forehead was still damp, which was evidence that it had been recently replaced, and now some twenty minutes or more after her initial fainting. She put the back of her hand to Catherine's cheek and found she was a little clammy, and then looked into her niece's eyes and saw quite plainly that she was in pain, and was also silent with embarrassment.

Scully nodded to herself, now knowing exactly what was wrong.

She turned to Lily and Chloe. "I need you to wait outside a minute."

"Is she okay?" Lily asked worriedly.

"She's fine," Scully assured them. "We just need a private word."

The two obediently made their way to the door, and Scully indicated for Lily to close it behind them, which she did, leaving the two alone.

Scully looked back to Catherine and noted again that she looked more anxious and embarrassed than Scully had ever seen her.

Scully held her hand. "Did you get your period?"

Catherine immediately went red, but she looked relieved as she quietly said, "Yes."

Scully nodded, and with her free hand gently tucked back a strand of Catherine's red hair behind her ear.

"It's okay. It's nothing to be embarrassed about." She paused as Catherine relaxed slightly. "I can see you're in pain. Do you have some cramping in your abdomen?"

Catherine nodded miserably.

"And that's what caused you to faint?"

Catherine nodded again. "I was really hot."

Scully could understand that the cramping combined with the hot room the nurse had described would be enough to carry her over the edge. Yet there were conspicuous holes in the nurse's story.

"Did you tell the nurse this?" Scully asked gently. "Did you she give you something to use?"

"I didn't tell her," Catherine said, voice soft with embarrassment. "Mom already gave me something. She told me to keep it in my bag just in case."

Scully felt glad for Christi's foresight, and wondered if it had occurred those few weeks prior when she had taken her bra shopping. She made a mental note to put the same suggestion to Monica later on. Lily would soon approach the same changes.

"Okay," Scully said, stroking back Catherine's hair again. "Well how about you come home with me, have a lie down, and we can pick you up some painkillers and things on the way home."

Catherine nodded and pushed herself up on her elbows. Scully took the cloth from her forehead and then stood up as she helped her slightly weak niece swing her legs to the floor where her shoes were sitting. As she put on her shoes, Scully walked to the other side of the bed and picked up her discarded blazer and her schoolbag, which nearly pulled Scully's arm out of its socket as it felt as heavy as a bag of bricks.

Carrying the bag and blazer in one hand, she put her other arm around Catherine's shoulders.

"Come on," she said affectionately. "Let's get you home."

XXX

Catherine was silent the entire trip home, curled up in her seat with an arm across her stomach and her eyes closed. Scully had stopped briefly at the local pharmacy, where she had picked up some painkillers and a pack of pads, and then they were rolling into the double garage of the house only five minutes later. Catherine was slow in her movements, and Scully had got out of the car, fetched her blazer and bag from the back seat, and gone around to the car door just as Catherine was reaching for the door handle.

"Come on," Scully said, helping her out of the car. "It's okay ..."

Scully helped her inside the house, and then slowly up the stairs where she heard Mulder moving around in the bathroom. She helped her down the short corridor toward the spare bedroom, but Catherine paused outside the toilet door.

"Can I -"

"Of course," Scully replied, and let her arm slide from her shoulders as her niece disappeared into the toilet.

The spare room was small but neat, and had a single bed and a window that overlooked the back garden. It was the room that Mrs Scully used when she came to Atlanta, and so there was a large framed family photo on one wall, which had been taken at Christmas time two years ago, and had all the adults and the five kids, plus Bill, Tara, Matthew, Lizzie and Sarah who had flown over from San Diego. Their three children were all teenagers now, and Scully felt old wondering where the time had gone. Matthew was now 19 and had recently joined the Navy, following in the proud footsteps of his father and grandfather. Lizzie was nearly 17 and was working her way toward becoming a lawyer. Scully had no doubt she would succeed. She had inherited the Scully intellect and ambition, and was mature and self-reliant far beyond her years. Sarah, however, just 13, was more like Tara, and while she had no large academic ambitions she was a sweet girl, and very likeable.

"How is she?"

Scully looked up from where she had set Catherine's bag down and laid her blazer over the end of the bed and saw Mulder was in the doorway, having emerged from his shower now fully dressed.

"She's fine," Scully said. "She just needs to lie down for a while."

She reached into the plastic bag from the pharmacy and fished out the box of medication. As she did she saw Mulder's eyes catch the other contents, and he bit back his next question and nodded instead. Scully bit back a smile of her own as she saw some slight awkwardness overcome Mulder's demeanour. Mulder had a long list of expert subject areas, but this was not one of them. His only real long term relationship had been with Scully, and she had gone into her early menopause before their relationship had turned sexual.

"I guess that explains why she was so quiet last night," he ventured.

At that moment Catherine appeared in the doorway. She saw Mulder and immediately the embarrassed look came back on her face, her cheeks slightly red.

"I'll leave you to talk," Mulder offered, as a brief pause engulfed the room. Catherine was still red, and without another word Mulder stepped toward her and gave her a paternal hug, running one hand briefly through her long red hair. When he pulled away, Catherine was smiling. "I'll be downstairs if you need anything."

"Come here," Scully said, pulling back the covers on the bed and holding out her hand. Catherine sat on the edge of the bed and slipped off her school shoes, and then let Scully help her into the bed where she leaned against the headboard.

"Swallow these," Scully said, handing her two tablets and the bottle of water she had taken from her schoolbag. "They'll help with the pain and should bring your temperature back down."

Scully waited as she swallowed, swishing the tablets around in her mouth for a moment before finally swallowing, and then taking another few mouthfuls of water to wash them down. When she was done, Scully took the bottle and placed it on the bedside table beside the digital clock.

She then held Catherine's hand. "Now do you have any questions? Is there anything you don't understand?"

For a moment she hesitated. "Is it always like this?"

"Well it depends," Scully said, squeezing her hand. "It varies from woman to woman. Some people - like your Mom - are lucky and have next to no symptoms at all, but others do get the regular cramping and feel a little ill. You know Melissa was one. She used to get sick nearly every month, came home from school regularly. We used to come home and find her curled up in a quilt watching TV. But it eased as she got older. It's often the case that it's worse in the first few years, until your body settles, but then things improve."

"What if it doesn't?" Catherine asked anxiously. "What if the medication doesn't work?"

"I think it will," Scully said. "But if it doesn't, then let me know and I'll prescribe you something that does."

She looked relieved, and smiled as she settled back into the pillow behind her. Scully squeezed her hand again.

"What was it like for you?" Catherine asked, peering up at Scully tentatively.

Scully smiled. "Actually I was the same age as you. I was thirteen. I remember we were living on the base in Maryland at the time. It was a hot Summers day, and we were seeing off our father as they sailed out for Europe. I remember I was standing there in the sun with Melissa, just wishing we could get back to the car so I could sit down. And she noticed I looked sick, called Mom and ..."

Scully shrugged. Catherine was hanging onto every word.

"Anyhow, I remember how different I felt," Scully recalled. "It was the first time I felt like a woman. All mature."

Catherine smiled.

There was a brief pause as Scully watched another cramp seize her. Scully held Catherine's hand with both of her own as she waited for it ease. When it did ease, she had a depressed look on her face again.

"Aunt Dana, can we talk about something?"

The question took Scully by surprise, as considering how personal the conversation was already, to ask the question felt unnecessary. But she could see something was wrong, as Catherine had the same look on her face that had confused everyone the previous night. She looked deeply bothered by something.

"Of course," Scully said, giving her hand another squeeze. "You know you and I can talk about anything."

"Can we?"

The question was a challenge, and Catherine raised her eyes to Scully's as she asked it. Scully saw nervousness under her determined courage, and her hand shifted in Scully's, as though she wondering whether to pull it away.

And the meaning of the question hit Scully like a lightning bolt, zapping straight to her chest, and in the shock of it all she could do was stare as her heart pounded and her emotions immediately unravelled.

Catherine's eyes softened a little and she asked in a small voice, "Why do you shut me out?"

Scully took a breath and struggled to steady herself as she searched for her words. "I shut you out?"

She ignored the question. "Lizzie says it's because you want to protect us. That you're terrified it'll scar us if you talk about it, because you see how upset Lily gets whenever you send her around to our house, and so you shut us out."

"That's true," Scully admitted. "You know Lily does get upset."

"But I'm not Lily," Catherine said, giving a deeply hurt look through her unshed tears.

The sight of her niece's unshed tears struck Scully painfully and she had to work for a second to hold back her own.

Catherine took a deep breath. "Lizzie said that if I came to you calmly and maturely that you'd understand."

Scully took a deep breath of her own.

"I'm sick of being shut out," Catherine said, as one of her tears slipped free. "I'm sick of being told to go upstairs, or go outside, and of you all going quiet whenever I walk in the room. I don't _want _to be protected. And then you say that we're friends and we can talk about anything, but you only mean anything about me. You expect me to share everything about my life, but you never give me anything in return. I'm not allowed to know, I'm not allowed to help, and I'm not allowed to care. I try so hard, and all you ever do is tell me to go away."

"I've never told you to go away," Scully corrected, as the words stung her all over.

"It's the same thing," Catherine replied.

There was a long pause. Scully was still feeling the shockwaves of Catherine's words and could not think of a single thing to say. They had deliberately protected the kids, that was true. Especially Lily and Nathan. Yet they had always known that Catherine was different to the rest, that she was so extremely intelligent and curious beyond the others. They had all known this day would come, and perhaps had been foolish to not realise that they had been hurting her while trying to protect her.

"I had no idea you were feeling this way," Scully said at last.

Catherine said nothing.

There was another long pause in which Scully still struggled to pick herself up off the floor.

Eventually she took a deep breath and squeezed Catherine's hand.

"Let me talk to Mulder."

XXX

A few hours later and they were all gathered in Mulder and Scully's living room. Upon hearing what had happened and seeing how upset Scully was, Mulder had immediately summoned Monica and John home. He had also called Christi and Charlie at their school, and they had left right on the bell and were home minutes later. Anne and Jack were going to take care of picking up the other four from school, and Catherine was still asleep in the spare room upstairs.

Scully had related the conversation to them all, starting at the point where Catherine had asked if they could talk, and everyone listened in silence. Monica had an anxious look on her face, which was a combination of her initial worry over Catherine falling ill, then the conversation they had had, followed by Scully's reaction, which had caused her to hurry home. But she did not know how to react either, and when Scully had finished talking just stared with her mouth slightly open, surprised as Scully had been. Christi was quiet - perched on the armrest of Scully's chair with her arm around her shoulders. John looked nearly as winded as Monica, and Charlie's expression was hard to read.

Scully and Mulder were holding hands, resting them on her thigh.

"I knew this day would come," John said at last, heaving a sigh.

"What do you want to do?" Scully asked.

"You're going to break her if you reject her," Charlie said. "This has obviously been bothering her for a while. With the way she went to Lizzie, sought her advice ... she's probably been working up the nerve for weeks. Or even months."

"But she's thirteen," Monica said, looking distressed at being caught between a rock and hard place. "Just because she's reached puberty it doesn't necessarily mean she's ready."

"But she's not like most kids," Mulder argued, firmly holding Scully's hand. "You know how smart she is, and in many ways she's more mature than most adults. And I think the fact that she talked to Lizzie first, came to Scully calmly and rationally, picked her moment, proves her maturity."

"We at least owe her a chance," John said. "She's a hell of a lot more mature than any of us were at that age. And if she wants to be treated like an adult, she deserves the chance to prove herself."

"How do you feel about it?" Monica asked, looking across at Scully.

There was a lump in Scully's throat and she could not answer. She looked down from Monica's searching eyes. She could still not get Catherine's hurt expression out of her mind, and her words: _"I try so hard, and all you ever do is tell me to go away."_ Hot tears were burning the backs of her eyes. Mulder's hand squeezed her own and she felt Christi's hand rub her back.

"Maybe we should talk to her," John suggested. "Open up to her a little, see how she copes."

"I think that'd be a good idea," Mulder agreed. "She needs to understand, and I think she'll be okay. She's strong."

There was a pause. Scully glanced up at Christi beside her, who had remained strangely silent.

"You haven't said anything."

"I know," Christi said. "Because frankly I don't even know what we're arguing about. I think the truth is that this has nothing to do with any of us, or even what happened on that mountain. It's about _you_. Plain and simple. It's not us she approached about this issue, and it's not us she's trying to get close to now. Dana we've all known right from the day she was born that you two have a special bond. You're both so much alike. You understand each other, you see yourselves in each other, and you love each other. And I think you'd be crazy to throw that away. And furthermore, I think she's right. This is about her wanting to have an adult relationship with you, to be close friends. And I think that what happened on that mountain is a substantial part of who you are, and as long as you shut off that part to her, she's never going to know you, and you'll never have that relationship. And Dana I can see quite plainly that it's what you both want, and that makes me think that the only real issue here is whether you feel comfortable in dropping your guard and giving her a chance."

"Would you?" Mulder asked quietly.

Scully raised her eyes to his. "I need to give her a chance."

"Then we'll support you," John said simply.

"All the way," Monica added. She still looked worried, but her love for Scully overwhelmed everything else.

"I have one condition," Charlie said suddenly.

"What's that?" Scully asked.

"That we make sure she knows about your anxiety attacks. I'm all for you bonding and spending time together, but if you're going to talk about the past I want her to recognise the warning signs."

"I agree," John said quickly, looking immediately worried. Scully's anxiety attacks had never completely subsided, though these days she recognised them in time and found someone before it took hold.

"Are we agreed then?" John asked, looking around the room.

"Agreed," Scully said, nodding and feeling strangely relieved.

There were nods all around.

"I'll go wake her then," Christi said.

"There's no need," Mulder said. And as she gave him a confused look, Mulder looked up the stairs and called out, "You can come down now."

And Scully was surprised as Catherine stepped out from the corridor, where she had evidently been eavesdropping just out of sight. She hesitated for a second, looking nervous at the fact that she had been caught and face turning even redder than her hair, but Christi merely smiled with amusement and beckoned her down. Scully was glad to see that she looked much better. She had more colour in her face and did not need to hold onto the railing to navigate the stairs as she had after coming home from school.

Christi stood up to meet her at the foot of the stairs and wrapped her arms around her daughter. They had not spoken yet about her sickness from school, as she had been asleep when Christi and Charlie had come home, and so they had tiptoed out of the bedroom again, electing to let her sleep whilst they listened to Scully's story. Christi held her, and was whispering something in her ear that Scully could not hear. Catherine nodded against her shoulder, and then Christi released her with a smile and a kiss on the cheek.

"Come sit down," Charlie said, patting the couch beside him.

Catherine gave Scully a nervous look and then avoided her eye as she went to Charlie and sat down beside him. He slid his arm around her waist and gave her back a little rub just below the ends of her hair.

Christi sat on the armrest on her other side, and then smiled at Scully, inviting her to take the lead.

Scully caught Catherine's nervous eyes and said gently, "Well as you've heard, we've been talking, and I think first of all we'd like to apologise. You're right that we have been protecting you, but it's our fault that we failed to realise you were ready to know some things. And if you're willing to give us another chance, we'd be glad to rectify that."

A smile slipped onto Catherine's lips.

"Is that okay?" Monica asked.

"Yes," Catherine said, her smile betraying her delight that she found hard to put into words. But then she met Scully's eyes again and said maturely, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Scully replied, feeling some warmth return to her heart. She could not help smiling either.

"Before we go any further," Mulder said, cutting in gently. "I have some questions."

He was looking at Catherine and she met his eyes with obvious nervousness, aware she was under the scrutiny of one of the world's top profilers. But as Scully watched she swallowed her nerves and raised a ready face to meet Mulder's.

"I want you to tell the truth," Mulder went on gently. "And I warn you we'll know if you're lying."

"Mulder -" John started, but Monica put a hand on his arm and he fell quiet.

"When did you watch the interview?"

Scully stared, shocked, and looked from Mulder straight to Catherine. The family possessed DVD recordings of their interview, but they had strictly forbidden the kids to watch it, and both Christi and Charlie and Monica and John all kept it secure in their bedrooms.

Scully watched as Catherine bit her lip, and after a moment of silence she met Mulder's eyes again.

"About three months ago," she answered steadily.

Christi's eyes widened, as did Monica's.

"_How_?" Monica asked, unable to hold back.

"It's on your shelf," Catherine said, indicating Mulder and Scully's DVD collection near the TV. "I borrowed it when you were out and watched it on my computer. I put it back before you got home."

Scully was so stunned it took a second to absorb what she was hearing. Charlie looked mildly impressed at her resourcefulness. Christi looked a little horrified, but didn't say anything.

"And did you just watch it the once?" Mulder asked.

"A few times," Catherine said quietly, less nervous now that no one had begun to tell her off.

Mulder nodded to himself. "And have you read Scully's book? The one she keeps in the study upstairs?"

Scully felt her heart pound as she watched Catherine's level gaze. Watching the interview behind their backs was one thing, but reading the book was infinitely more worrying. The interview had not revealed much in the way of horrific information, but the book was a tell-all honest account that Scully had written as therapy after the accident. She had never ended up getting it published, but a printed and bound copy remained on the study bookshelf.

Catherine glanced around nervously at the crowd of worried faces.

"I had no choice," she said. "You wouldn't tell me anything."

This time it was Scully who nodded sadly, now understanding how the chain of events had unravelled. Catherine, seized by years of built-up curiosity, had snuck into their house over the summer break and taken the interview to watch on her computer. But seeing that had not been enough, and her drive to understand had carried her to read the book. And in the wake of that new knowledge of precisely what had occurred on the mountain, the pressure of still being treated like a naive child had been too much. And so she had gone to Lizzie, chatting over the Internet one night, as Lizzie knew exactly how it felt to inherit the story from their aunt, and was also mature enough that she had advised her cousin to come clean with them, to do it in an adult fashion, not lose her temper, and they would understand ...

"And that's how all this started?" Monica asked, giving Catherine a sad look. "That's why you went to Lizzie?"

Catherine nodded.

There was a long pause. Christi sighed and rubbed her back. She felt too sorry for her to be angry.

"I have one more question," Mulder said at last. "Is it because of Scully that you did all this? Because you love her, and want to be close to her?"

There was another long pause. Catherine met Scully's questioning eyes, and in them Scully saw her nervousness. Catherine was a Scully, and as a rule they were not the type who were comfortable with admitting feelings, and in Catherine's case especially in the direction of someone she admired as much as her famous doctor aunt. Scully's heart was pounding as she awaited her answer, even though she already knew it.

"Yes," Catherine said at last, and a smile spread on her lips.

And Scully smiled back at her, so overcome with emotion that she could not find any words. She caught glimpses of Monica and Christi smiling at her across the room, of Mulder sitting back in his chair and squeezing her hand as his interrogation finished, and of everyone staring at them. But no one said anything, and after a moment Scully got to her feet and crossed the carpet to where Catherine sat.

"Come here," Scully said, tears slipping from her eyes, and still smiling, Catherine got to her feet and walked into Scully's arms. The two embraced, arms wrapped fully around each other, gripping tight with love neither had ever before openly expressed. And Scully smiled as she cried, as Catherine did the same against her shoulder, and as the rest of the family looked on, tears now in Christi's twinkling eyes, and Monica shedding a few of her own.

It was a long time before they let go of each other, and then Scully stepped back to see Catherine was glowing.

"If you'd like to come to Washington with us in January, we'd be glad to have you."

It was Washington that was the centre of their pain, and in Washington where Catherine could witness the tragedy for herself.

"I'd love to," Catherine replied, and then with a display of open affection Scully had never known her capable of, Catherine reached forward and put her arms around Scully again, unwilling to let the moment end.

* * *

_A short chapter, but it felt like a natural ending to me. _


	40. Chapter 40

_Second last chapter. _

**_Chapter 71 - Return to Washington_**

In the fourteen years since they had attended Brad Follmer's funeral, St Paul's Cathedral had not changed one bit. While the rest of their lives had sped ahead relentlessly, and the city itself had evolved since the survivors had lived there, the church was the antidote to time, standing proud on the corner exactly as it had done for the last several hundred years. The mosaics on the floor in the entry hall were as beautiful as ever, the high stained glass windows glowing slightly in the little winter light that penetrated them, and the inside of the church deafeningly silent as Scully walked in first with Catherine beside her, over an hour before the memorial service was due to commence.

"We're very early," Catherine said in a hushed voice, as they stepped into the main hall, where the two columns of seats sat bare.

"It's more than just a service," Scully replied. "This is where a lot of it began."

Scully paused as she glanced around the church and her eyes fell on the long tables lining one of the walls. Covering the tables were several hundred candles glowing peacefully in the dim light, their light flickering over the numerous framed photos and letters that were dispersed amongst them. She felt Catherine touch her elbow in support, and marvelled again at how well Catherine was rising to the occasion. She knew a lot of it was down to Christi and Charlie, who had had a long talk with her over exactly what to expect from the four survivors, and furthermore how to support them with their pain. Christi had also bought Catherine some formal clothes and she stood there now in black pants, heels, and a simple white top with her long red hair flowing down her back.

Scully's reverie broke as the others entered behind her - Mulder, Monica, John, Christi and Charlie - their shoes echoing on the mosaic tiles on the floor. Anne and Jack, now in their mid seventies, had stayed behind in Atlanta to care for the other four kids. Scully paused as Mulder came up beside her, and she slipped her hand into his, and he gave a squeeze in reply. Together, the group made their way toward the memorial bench where the photos stood waiting, trapped in time.

"That's Kimberly," John supplied sadly to Catherine, and pointing at a framed photo of Kim and her older sister. "And Holly, Follmer ..."

"His was the first funeral we went to," Mulder filled in. "Right here, fourteen years ago."

"And it still feels like yesterday," Charlie said.

"It still feels like _now_," Monica corrected, and Scully saw her eyes tremble. John put his arm strongly around her shoulders and she leaned into him a little.

"Were there many people here?" Catherine asked.

"Hundreds," Christi answered. "They were FBI agents everywhere, lining the walls ..."

"And we sat right there in the front row," Scully remembered.

"For a while, anyway," John added, remembering as well.

They didn't need to fill Catherine in on how Monica had vomited in the middle of the funeral. These details were among the many things Christi and Charlie had already filled her in on. They had covered Monica's vomiting just as they had covered Scully's anxiety attacks, Mulder's nightmares and John's moods. These things all four of them still suffered from, and would again many times before the week was out. This annual emotional release was the indulgence of Washington.

They spent quite a while looking at the photos, introducing Catherine to each one of the people she had read about in Scully's book, telling anecdotes of the scattered details they knew of the people's pre-crash lives. Monica lit a candle, as she did every year, and Scully made her way to the low prayer bench near the altar, as she did every year. Here she crossed herself, kneeled with her knees to the hard floor, clasped her hands on the wooden bench and bowed her head. And then she prayed as hard she could, thinking of everyone they had lost, of their relatives and their partners, and in a few cases of their young kids. She prayed for their wellbeing, for all their own wellbeing and for the future of all these people she loved. Halfway through her prayer she felt Mulder's arm settle heavily around her as he knelt beside her, both to comfort her and to monitor her breathing. Only two years ago Scully had lapsed into an attack during her prayer, her temperature had skyrocketed and her friends had stripped her nearly naked in an effort to level her out again.

A moment later she felt Catherine's hand tentatively on her back.

"Are you okay?" she asked gently, as Scully lifted her head and opened her eyes, warm tears in them.

"Yeah, I'm -"

"Dana."

Monica's joyous voice broke Scully's sentence in half, and Scully looked around to see her mother, Bill and Tara all entering the church. But they were not alone. For the first time, Matthew, Lizzie and Sarah had all made the pilgrimage, evidently having taken Catherine's attendance as a green light for them as well to step up and inherit Scully's legacy.

"Hi," Scully said brightly, getting to her feet and going with the others to meet them in the aisle.

"Dana," Mrs Scully said, as she went to greet her. She had aged significantly over the last 14 years, but her living in Washington meant she was still able to make it every year.

"I told you they'd already be here," Bill threw at his kids with a triumphant smile.

"Well we are an hour early," Sarah pointed out, looking confused by this fact. Like her cousin Catherine, she was dressed in some new formal clothes, and compared to the tom-boyish worn jeans and daggy t-shirts Scully usually saw her in, the transformation was remarkable. She had her hair up, and was also wearing make-up and heels for what was the first time. Matthew was in a black suit, now 20 years old and looking quite the mature man. Lizzie was just a few months shy of her eighteenth birthday and has blossomed into a beautiful young woman, her blonde hair curled today and her smile radiant.

"Helps you get your bearings before everyone else gets here," John explained, as he hugged her.

"You have the whole week off school?" Lizzie asked Catherine, as the two gently hugged each other. Of all the eight cousins, Lizzie and Catherine had the most in common.

"Not really," Catherine replied. "I brought my work with me. It's at the hotel."

"You brought homework?" Sarah asked, looking disgusted.

"It's something you should've done," Tara said, not missing a beat.

"I don't have any," Sarah said.

"I used to try that line," Charlie said with a reminiscent smile. "It never works."

"You told me that Dana used to dob you in," Christi said with a smile.

"Yeah," Charlie agreed, and he threw Scully a look at which Scully could only laugh. Catherine was smiling. Scully knew she loved hearing the stories from their childhood on the base. And Charlie - who had been quite an adventurous, cheeky boy, had plenty of them to tell.

"You won't have much time for homework anyway," Monica pointed out. "We have Lauren's party tonight, and then the cemeteries tomorrow ..."

"Speak of the angel," Mulder said, as his tone brightened as a group of people entered the church: Lauren Garnier, Stacie Griffin and Lauren's new fiancé Michael, an economist she had met through a mutual friend the previous year.

"Hey..!" Monica said enthusiastically, and hurried forward to wrap her arms around a beaming Lauren in a big hug. John was the first reach Stacie, and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

Among all the people they had met and loved over the last fourteen years, Lauren Garnier and Stacie Griffin were at the top of the list. They were the ones who had both been great friends with Holly and Kim, Lauren then 30 and Stacie only 22 and just out of the Academy. Lauren was the one they owed Monica's life to, and whom Monica had thanked and had a heart-to-heart with two years after the crash, when the birth of Lily had sealed Monica's will to live again. It was Lauren who had found her bleeding in the showers of the Quantico swimming pool, and both Lauren and Stacie who had been so traumatised by everything that had happened that month it had been several long years before they had found their feet again.

Scully could still remember that morning at the swimming pool. She recalled Lauren exiting the changing rooms with Monica's blood on her hands, and how Dr Harris had taken her under her wing. Her heart still broke as she recalled poor Stacie's reaction. Her youth had made it harder on her, as every other agent in the Bureau had built up years of resilience composed of dead bodies and horrific crime. But Stacie had been catapulted into that search party with her innocence relatively intact, and had emerged from those changing rooms with a severe case of shock. It was Jana who had taken care of her, and had found a blanket to wrap around shaking body, and had not long after called for an ambulance. They found out much later that she had been hospitalised for observation, and had been collected by her parents and given time off work.

The scars in both Lauren and Stacie ran almost as deep as those of the survivors. Lauren had tried to pick herself up and soldier on, but the trauma nabbed her only a few weeks later, and the emotions she couldn't shake off had led to the breakdown of her relationship and a long bout of depression. Jana had looked after her, and Lauren had paid sick leave from work while her long term boyfriend moved out. Jana had also provided both Lauren and Stacie with ongoing expert counselling. In the end the thing that had saved both Lauren and Stacie had been their budding friendship. In each other they found someone who understood, who had also known Holly and Kim, and had also been there when they had found Monica with a knife in her hand and blood dripping from her pyjamas. Two months after Lauren's boyfriend had moved out of her Washington apartment, Stacie had moved in, and there she had stayed for several years. Jana had also helped by partnering them together at the Bureau upon their return to work, and as time went on the two had improved. But it never completely went away, and it was for this reason that the two found their way to the memorial service every year. Like the survivors, like the core family members of all the dead, this was a tragedy which they could not simply turn away from, and would live inside them forever.

Another person who attended the January 14 service every year was Jana Cassidy. Since her promotion to Director, she had revolutionised the Bureau, and had been the sole cause of its recovery. Her first move had been a complete restructure, not only to fill the positions of those who had died, but to help the many agents who could not go on in their departments, as the memories they provoked were destructively strong. So those that had not been promoted had been moved sideways, many electing to move into entirely different divisions or out of Washington altogether. And with the change of the scenery, the majority of agents had been able to move on with their lives. Another initiative Jana had introduced was the new mental health policy. All field agents - and _all _agents in the divisions of Violent Crime and Child Crime - were required to participate in an annual mental health check-up. She had increased the numbers of counsellors available at the Bureau, and ensured support was freely available not just in Washington but in every field office. John was still a part of this initiative in his role as a mentor for starting agents in the Atlanta field office.

The survivors and the core relatives of the dead religiously made the pilgrimage every year, and over the fourteen years had formed a family with each other. But they were not the sole attendees, as others drifted in and out from year to year. Several years Doctor Cheung had managed to make it, and every year a contingent came from the FBI, some of whom were agents who had known one or more of the dead, or who came because they happened to be in town. Many others, though, came because Jana came. They were the ladder climbers and political figures of the city who came for their own agendas, ambitious agents eager to win Jana's approval and knew that attending the memorial service was a key way of achieving this. But they were not all bad, and while they were not traumatised their respect during the one minute's silence was absolutely genuine, and their awe of the four survivors was so sincere Scully found it cringe-worthy. But nevertheless, now fourteen years on, the numbers in attendance at the services had barely dwindled. Every year the families came, every year the survivors came, and together they shared their ongoing grief with a cathedral full of family who felt precisely the same.

XXX

It was a dark night in DC, and from the top floor balcony of Lauren Garnier's luxury apartment Scully stood gazing out at the city lights reflecting on the damp. It was so peaceful at this time of night, a cool breeze brushing against her face, the sounds of laughter and background jazz music wafting out from the party inside. It felt so long ago that she had lived here, and yet it also felt like yesterday.

"How are you feeling?"

Scully smiled as Catherine slipped out onto the balcony with her. Over her niece's shoulder Scully caught Monica's eyes as she moved through the crowd with a glass of wine. John was making conversation with Lauren's fiancé Michael, Mulder with Holly's sister Jane, and across near the fancy kitchen Jana Cassidy was catching up with Kimberly's brother and parents, who had just arrived.

"I'm doing okay," Scully said. "How about you?"

"I'm good," Catherine said happily, leaning on the balcony railing with her and gazing out at the city lights.

Scully glanced back into the main room and this time saw through a gap in the crowd to see Stacie sitting by herself in an armchair, looking a million miles away. In a flash Scully looked for help, and straightaway found Christi, who immediately spotted her concern and went to strike up a conversation.

"Is she all right?" Catherine asked quietly.

"I think she's okay," Scully said. "You just have to keep an eye on her when she falls quiet. It's a warning sign."

"I thought she was better?"

"She is the majority of the time. But she is prone to depression - she's still on anti-depressants even today - and it's better to be safe than sorry at this time of year."

Scully risked another glance and saw Christi had successfully engaged her in conversation. The two were smiling. Lizzie joined them.

"Is this apartment Lauren's or Michael's?" Catherine asked.

"Lauren's," Scully replied. "Why do you ask?"

Catherine glanced around at the expensive furniture, spacious rooms, and then out at the stunning top floor view.

"I just didn't think being an FBI agent paid this well," Catherine said quietly. "It must be expensive."

Scully smiled to herself. Catherine did not miss a thing.

"It doesn't pay this well," Scully confirmed softly. "We've looked after her."

Scully saw faint surprise light up Catherine's eyes, but she covered it quickly and focused her attention back out to the city lights. A few strands of her hair moved in the breeze.

"Aunt Dana," she said after a moment. "How rich are we? Our family?"

Scully felt something inside her shift a little, and kept her attention out on the city lights.

"What do you think?" she asked calmly.

"I don't know," Catherine admitted thoughtfully. "I know you were paid a lot for the interview, and that you were paid compensation for what happened. And I know the beach house is worth nearly ten million. But I know you gave a lot to charity, that you still support Holly's Salvation Army and mental health organisations, and then our education, and Sarah's and Lizzie's as well, and ... I've read in magazines that they estimate that you have a few hundred million between you."

"The magazines are wrong," Scully said.

She watched out of the corner of her eye as surprise lit up her eyes, but again, she quickly concealed it.

"We have a lot more than that," Scully finished.

At last Scully met her eyes, and she put her hand over Catherine's on the railing to ease her niece's nerves.

"Between the four of us, our assets and all our investments, we have more than a billion."

Catherine's eyes were wide in shock. Her mouth moved to start a sentence but no words came out.

"And yes, you're all in the will," Scully answered for her.

"Then why haven't you -"

"Spent it?" Scully asked. "Because there's no need. When you've seen as much of life as we have you come to know that. We've been incredibly lucky to find happiness after what happened, and no amount of money makes any difference. We have the most beautiful family in the world, and that's all that counts to us. And you - after what happened to us, what you've had to inherit already, the most valuable thing we could ever give you was a relatively normal life. And when the four of us eventually die, the eight of you will inherit in equal shares."

Scully expected to see pleasure in her face, and was therefore surprised when Catherine looked a little sad.

"You can keep it," she said quietly. "You're not allowed to die. Ever."

Scully's heart nearly stopped at the response, and Catherine smiled at her as Scully blinked back tears. She reached across and put her arm around her niece.

"I love you too," Scully answered.

"Can I ask another question?" Catherine asked gently.

"Ask as many as you like."

"Why did you and Uncle Mulder never marry?"

Scully sighed, and she gazed out at the lights again as she wondered the answer herself.

"I'm not sure of that answer myself," she admitted. "Maybe because we've never felt a need. Or because neither of us have ever done things in the normal accepted fashion. Or perhaps because we're past that already."

"What do you mean?"

"Being as close as we are," Scully said, "when you've repeatedly risked your life for someone you love. When you've proved it again and again, and you're dependent on each other, never tire of each other's company, never fail to understand what each other are thinking or feeling ... maybe we don't need the reassurance of the law."

"Mom says it's because you couldn't have children," Catherine said hesitantly. "That you felt unworthy because of it."

"But we do have children," Scully said, rubbing Catherine's back. "We have eight of them. We're one family. No walls or divisions. That was laid down right from the start."

Catherine smiled. She appeared touched by the answer, and Scully knew why, though neither of them voiced it. Heart suddenly light, Scully gazed back out at the city lights.

There was a pause for a moment. Scully heard a group laughing inside, John's distinct laugh above the conversation and the background jazz music.

"Have you ever thought about getting on a plane again?" Catherine asked suddenly. "Facing your fear?"

Scully knew the kids all thought it slightly odd that they still drove to Washington and back every year when they could save so much time flying. But they knew the reason, even if they didn't think it logical.

Scully took a slow breath as her chest tightened at the thought.

"No, we haven't. The night we had to fly back from Vancouver was impossible enough."

"I just thought maybe it'd help," Catherine said gently.

Scully took another deep breath as her mind suddenly reeled back to the crash.

"Aunt Dana...?" Catherine's distant voice said. "Are you -"

"Scully!"

Mulder's shouted out accompanied by a crashing open of the glass sliding door. She heard several pairs of footsteps behind her, and Monica's voice saying, "Dana ..."

Mulder's hands slipped around her waist, taking one of hers from the railing and holding it in his to the base of her ribs.

"You're here on the balcony, Scully," he breathed in her ear. "Just breathe calmly. It's all okay."

Scully struggled to pull her breathing back, but oxygen felt in such short supply.

Mulder held her in his arms, his hands on her stomach and ribs, her back flush against his chest with his warm breath in her ear.

"Stay calm, Scully," he said softly. "We're all right here."

And it was these words, familiar from fourteen years ago that brought Scully back, and her head spun with dizziness as she slowed her breathing.

"I need to sit down," Scully told them.

"Sit down right here," John instructed, and she felt his hand on her upper arm as he helped Mulder lower her to the concrete balcony floor. She sat down, leaning sideways against the glass balcony barrier. Catherine knelt down in front of her. She looked apprehensive, but not panicky, and reached forward to lay one of her hands softly on top of Scully's. In the balcony doorway the rest of the family stood in a circle, and behind them Jana Cassidy, Stacie, Michael, and the families of Holly and Kim. But Scully was not bothered, as everyone in this crowd knew exactly what trauma was, and over the fourteen years they had all witnessed each other's weaknesses. It was this kinship that pulled them back to St Paul's Cathedral every year.

"Are you going to be sick?" Monica asked gently.

"Would you like a bucket?" Lauren asked.

"No, I'm fine," Scully replied, swallowing down her nausea and steadying her breathing.

"What did you ask her?" Christi asked her daughter.

"If she'd ever consider flying again," Catherine said guiltily.

Several people exchanged glances.

"And what did you answer?" Monica asked, her soft brown eyes looking straight into Scully's.

"I think her white face is the answer," Lauren said good naturedly.

"You know perfectly well I'll never fly again," Scully told Monica, as her stomach somersaulted at the mere thought. Stacie hurried forward with a glass of water and handed it down to them. "I'd rather kill myself."

"Good," Monica said, looking thoroughly relieved. "Because if you ever even _think _of answering differently I'll throw you off this balcony."

"Monica," Tara said, giving her a bit of a look.

"It's okay," Scully said, waving down her sister-in-law's concern and throwing an amused look at the puzzled expressions on the faces of Matthew, Lizzie and Sarah, who had never witnessed her have an anxiety attack before, or Monica's ferocious love and protectiveness.

"That was 'I love you'," Mulder translated. "You'll get to know."

And before the week of catch-ups, cemetery visits and strolls down memory lane were over, they certainly did.

XXX

**_Chapter 72 - The Last Hurdle_**

"So are you thinking of getting dressed before he comes over?"

It was another family Tuesday evening at Anne and Jack's house three years later. Charlie, having volunteered to help slice some carrots, looked up at his fifteen year old daughter Chloe, whose latest boyfriend was due to show up and be introduced in less than half an hour. Chloe had always possessed her mother's stunning good looks, and now she was a teenager she was not afraid of showing them off. Her long skinny legs were emphasised by a tiny denim skirt, her chest by a low-cut white top, and her hair had been straightened and tamed in an elegant knot.

"I am dressed," she protested, giving her father an annoyed look.

Christi said nothing, but they all knew she was playing it casual, and considering Chloe's knack for attracting all the wrong kinds of guys, Scully thought she was being a Saint. In the corner Anne was smiling to herself, having been through all of this when raising Christi and now had a playful air of enjoying the sweet revenge.

"So what's his name?" Scully asked her, lifting her eyes from a medical journal.

"Adrian," Chloe said.

"Do we get to know anything about this Adrian?" Mulder enquired.

Chloe shrugged and gave a head-over-heels smile. "He's hot."

And with that she drifted out of the room again to see what was on television.

"Well that makes me feel better," Charlie said to himself.

Scully had to work hard to keep a straight face.

"Don't you start laughing," John scolded her. "It's not funny."

The double whammy had been that Lily was also bringing around her new boyfriend that evening. It was actually only Lily who was supposed to be bringing around a guy named Trent, and this was due to Monica's encouragement, curious to meet the guy who had held her daughter's obsession for the past two months. But once Chloe had got wind of this news, she had seized the opportunity to show off Adrian as well, and now both sets of parents were anxious. The prospect of fortune hunters was a very real one, and both Chloe and Lily were very attractive.

"Do you know anything about these boys?" Jack asked Nathan and Lachlan, who were standing around. Both were thirteen now, and Scully was proud of how well they were turning out. Nathan was a gentleman, a kind-hearted guy who would be a great catch for some future girl. Recent rumours also had it that Lachlan, with his blonde hair and blue eyes, had become a source of attraction for several girls in his year.

Lachlan shrugged, not the least bit interested in Chloe's love life. "I don't know. He's just some guy."

"They're all over each other at school," Nathan said, screwing up his nose. "It's gross."

"Lil," John beckoned, as she sailed into the room. Scully was pleased to see that she was not as scantily dressed as Chloe. She had inherited Monica's sense of fashion and class, and wore a pair of figure-hugging jeans with a black top and expensive jewellery.

"Yeah?" Lily answered.

"What do you know about Adrian?"

She shrugged. "He's okay."

"Just okay?" Christi asked, looking anxious.

"Well what do you want to know?"

Scully gently took her wrist, drawing her closer so Chloe could not overhear.

"Does he drink?" she asked.

"Yeah," Lily answered, as though this was obvious.

"Does he smoke?" she continued.

"All the time," Lily said.

"Does he make good grades?" Mulder cut in. "Try hard at school?"

"Not really," she said, looking doubtful.

"Is he a virgin?" Charlie asked.

Christi looked up.

"Not really," Lily said quietly, looking hesitant.

"Not really?" John asked. "Call me old-fashioned, but he either is or he isn't. Which is it?"

In answer, Lily shook her head.

"Well that's great," Charlie said. "Absolutely fantastic."

Christi sighed irritably.

Lily, sensing the tension in the room had doubled, made a strategic exit to join Chloe at the television. Nathan and Lachlan followed her.

"Well at least we don't have to worry about Catherine," Monica said positively.

Catherine was currently in Shanghai on a school trip. It was for six weeks and a group of thirty students, including most of her friends on the debating team, went for the cultural immersion trip. They stayed in some school dormitories in their sister school, and did a lot of touring around China in what was supposed to be a rich cultural experience which boosted the kids' independence and self-confidence. When Catherine had come home with the information pack several months ago, she had been alight with eagerness to sign up with her friends, and the family had agreed it would be a rich experience for her.

They had never expected the phone call they received half an hour later.

"Jack Doggett here," Jack said, picking up the phone. "Yes, she's right here, I'll put her on." He handed the phone to Christi. "It's Yvonne Li, Catherine's tour leader."

Immediately alarmed, Christi quickly wiped her hands from where she'd been preparing some chicken fillets and took the phone. Charlie went and stood beside her.

"Yvonne, it's Christina ..."

There was a long pause. Everyone stopped what they were doing, all ears. The teachers supervising the trip would not call unless something was very wrong.

Christi appeared puzzled. "Well how do you mean, is she all right ..?"

Charlie jabbed his finger at the speaker button, and Mrs Li's voice talked loud and clear.

"We can't tell you what's wrong. We have a doctor on the way to check her out, but we're honestly not sure. She's refusing to get out of bed, she hasn't gotten herself dressed, and she won't even talk."

"That doesn't sound like her," John said unnecessarily.

"Well has something happened?" Christi asked. "Have you asked her friends?"

"Did they fight?" Charlie asked.

"Her friends don't know anything more than we do," Yvonne replied. "And she's not talking to them either, they've tried. But Mrs. Scully I need to know if you can meet the cost of the doctor ..."

"We'll pay it," Christi said quickly. "Whatever she needs. I just -"

"Has she shown any signs of illness?" Scully spoke up, wondering if this was another case of Catherine being crampy and being too embarrassed to tell anyone. "Does she have a fever, or seem to be in any pain?"

"She seems physically healthy. If you ask me, she's just depressed and deeply homesick."

"How long has she been like this?" Scully asked.

"She's been on the quiet side for a few days, but we had no cause for concern until this morning when she didn't come down with the others. I went to her room and she still won't get out of bed. To be frank, I'm worried about her."

"Is she crying?" Monica asked.

"There's signs of it," Yvonne replied. "Her eyes are red like she's been crying half the night. I think she's homesick. I've seen it before on this trip in previous years, some kids from close families like yours aren't used to being alone for so long. But in Catherine's case I'm not sure she's going to pull out of it. I need your direction on what you want us to do."

"It's still four weeks till the trip ends," Charlie said worriedly, looking around at them all. "It's too long to have to hold on."

"Wait for what the doctor says," Anne said. "She might be okay, just a passing mood. You might make it worse if you make a fuss, embarrass her further in front of the other kids."

"What do you think?" Christi asked Scully.

"I'm worried," Scully admitted, her heart trembling. "It's a bad sign when someone refuses to get out of bed. When they won't even dress themselves. And we all know how out of character that is for her."

"Maybe we should be thinking about flyin' her home," John suggested.

"They can't even get her dressed and downstairs," Charlie pointed out. "They're never going to get her to an airport."

"And if she's that upset it'd be unwise to leave her alone on the flight anyway," Mulder said anxiously.

"We're not leaving her alone on a flight," Monica said firmly, eyes suddenly hard. "If something happened ..."

"_Nothing _will happen," Jack said quickly, putting his arm around firmly.

"Well then where does that leave us?" Christi asked. "If she doesn't improve, if the doctor can't help her ... we can't leave her to suffer for four weeks."

There was a pause.

"Then we fly over there," Scully concluded. "Mrs. Li, tell her we're on our way."

_"No way_," John said firmly.

"Don't even _think _about it," Monica backed him up, eyes fiery.

"Well what would you rather do?" Mulder said, firing up in Scully's defence.

"You're _not _flying over there," Monica ordered, glaring.

"Can you get time off work?" John asked Christi and Charlie.

Christi shook her head anxiously. "With this new asshole boss we have, we were nearly sacked for taking January as it is ..."

"We'd lose our jobs," Charlie confirmed sadly, though Scully could tell he was tempted. They did not need the money, and worked to keep themselves busy and set their kids a good example.

"Keep your jobs," Scully said to them. "I'll go check on her."

"_No_, Dana," Monica said again.

"And what choice do we have?" Scully said, temper flaring. "When she's not getting out of bed, she's not getting dressed, and she's not talking."

"You wouldn't leave any of us like that," Mulder said, "and yet you'd leave your own niece? _Your _flesh and blood," he added to John.

"Dana, I love her just as much as you do," Monica said anxiously. "I'm just saying -"

"Saying what?" Scully argued.

"You wouldn't hesitate if it was Lily," Charlie pointed out. "You'd be at the airport already."

"And it could be next year," Scully added.

"But, Dana, I -"

And her words drifted off as distressed tears appeared in her eyes. Tears of complete and utter fear.

"I'll be all right," Scully said bravely, quashing her fear and thinking only of Catherine, alone and upset in another country. "She's all that matters."

"Are you sure you can take it alone?" Anne asked gently.

"I'll come with you," Mulder said, and Scully saw the fear in his eyes, but higher than that was a love for his family, and a love for her.

Scully reached for his hand, and they held them tight.

There was a moment of silence, broken by Yvonne's voice.

"What do you want me to tell her?"

"Tell her we're coming," Scully answered.

"And tell her we love her more than anything," Christi added, looking still sad that she was unable to join Scully on the journey.

"Then we'd better get you a flight," John said quietly, and with fearful tears in his eyes he turned around and pulled out his cell phone, with which he soon requested two first class tickets to Shanghai, adjacent to the emergency exit.

"We'll take care of each other," Scully told Monica, her heart aching at how they had fought.

Monica took a deep breath and tried to be brave through the tears that were glistening in her eyes.

"Just take care of Catherine," Monica said gently. "Make sure she's all right."

XXX

All of them had known logically that nothing was going to happen, yet trauma was never logical. It had only been a brief few hours before they had set off for Atlanta airport, and when Monica and John had given them strangling hugs goodbye as though sending them to the grave. But Scully's argument that Catherine was family prevailed, and no one voiced any further objections. However that did not stop Monica and John from taking excessive precautions. Not only had they demanded first class seats with immediate access to the emergency exit, but they had scrutinised the airline's safety record on the Internet, and also had a word with the flight crew over Mulder and Scully's history and psychological condition. To that end, Scully found that between her urgent anxiety over her niece and the downright irritating babying concern they received from the crew, giving them a personal tour of the safety procedures with kindly smiles like they were two years old, she did not have time or space to feel the full power of her phobia. For the first half hour her and Mulder had squeezed hands tights on the armrest, yet not long after they had actually fallen asleep, as it was a night flight, and they had both done a full hard day at work. When she woke up over the Pacific Ocean early in the morning, the sight of the sparkling blue sea had reminded her of her father, and this thought was calming. They were well on their way now, and she prayed again for Catherine to hold on. She hoped that it had indeed proved to be a passing mood, and that they would get there and find her all smiles again, but already deep down she knew this would not be the case.

Mulder had slept all the way to Shanghai airport, when Scully gently shook him awake. They held hands again on the descent, but it was over before they knew it, and the flight attendant who had monitored them carefully for the entire trip informed them that they were safely down. When they finally exited the terminal, however, they found they were greeted by a middle-aged Chinese man in a sharp suit, with fluent English.

"Mr. Mulder, Miss Scully, my name's Zhao, and I'll be your guide for today."

"Our guide?" Scully asked.

"As arranged by a Mrs. Monica Doggett," Zhao said with a smile. "If you'll just step this way."

"We should've known," Mulder said, with an amused smile.

He took their cases and wheeled them through the crowded airport and outside into the smog-filled air where he a had a shiny black stretch limousine waiting.

"Is this also a gift from our guardian angels?" Mulder enquired, nodding at the car.

"And your hotel room," Zhao answered, holding the door open for them.

"What did she do there? Upgrade us to a gold-plated bathtub?"

But Zhao did not answer as he gently shut the door and went around to the front where he hopped in and soon drove them through the streets of Shanghai until they eventually reached the elite school where the Atlanta students were staying on their trip. It was a very old group of stone buildings, with a small sports field and groups of Chinese students milling about on their break who stared excitedly when they saw the car pull up. Zhao opened the door for them, and then led them to the school office, where they were soon escorted to a separate building. They walked up the stone steps and into a small quiet corridor where one white student Scully recognised from Catherine's debating team ducked out of a side room where they could hear American accents talking.

"Excuse me," Mulder said, stopping the young male. "We're looking for Mrs. Yvonne Li, could you tell us where we can find her?"

"Yeah, sure, she's in here," he said, and led them back into the room he had just left.

It was a like a long living room for the student dormitories upstairs. It had a dark blue carpet with windows facing a small garden strip at the side, a small kitchenette at one end of the room, and the rest filled with lounge chairs and scatted circular tables where a lot of the students from Catherine's school were sitting with their books open. Many of them looked up when Mulder and Scully entered the room, and Yvonne Li got up from one of the tables where she had been helping a student and hurried over to them.

"How is she?" Scully asked anxiously.

"No better," Yvonne replied sadly. "The doctor said she's depressed, but he couldn't get anything out of her."

"She's still upstairs in bed?" Scully asked, noting her absence from the table of her high-flying debating team friends.

"Yes," Yvonne said, nodding and giving a helpless shrug. "Did you want to see her, see if she wants to go home?"

"Yes," Scully said, "thank you."

She turned with Yvonne for the door, but stopped as Mulder didn't turn with her.

"You go ahead," he said, catching her eyes. "I'll meet you up there."

Scully understood when he made his way toward Catherine's friends, and knew he would quiz them for information, how her mood had been, if anything had happened ...

Scully left the room with Yvonne, past the spot in the corridor where Zhao was politely waiting, and up the stairs to the next floor where doors came off either side of the corridor at regular intervals.

"She's just in here," Yvonne said quietly, and reached for a door handle three quarters of the way up the corridor. She turned it gently and poked her head around the door before pushing it open all the way. Scully followed her in. The room was tiny, just a single bed against one wall, a set of drawers and a window where daylight was streaming in. Catherine was curled up in bed with the blankets resolutely over her entire body. On the edge of the bed a young male teacher was sitting, having evidently been trying to bring her out of herself. He gave them a relieved look as Scully entered with Yvonne.

"Catherine, your Aunt's here," Yvonne said. "Dana Scully."

There was no movement. Scully approached the bed, the young teacher got up to make way for her and she sat down on the edge of the mattress.

"Catherine?"

There was no movement. She put her hand to Catherine's back through the thick, rough blankets.

"It's me. Mulder and I have come to take you home."

There was still no reaction. Scully turned to the two teachers, who understood without her needing to utter a word, and discretely left, closing the door behind them.

"It's all right," Scully said, giving her a back a little rub. "Whatever it is, it's going to be okay."

But still with no reaction, Scully reached for the top edge of the blankets over her niece's head and gently tugged.

"Come on," she said firmly. "Come out from under there."

And at Scully's tone Catherine finally gave in, and she let Scully pull down the covers to reveal her lying there in her satin pyjamas. Her eyes were no longer red from crying, but there was no disputing the diagnosis of depression. She looked miserable, and refused to meet Scully's eyes as she subconsciously drew her legs up further into a defensive ball.

"It's okay," Scully said gently, slipping her fingers into Catherine's soft hair and sweeping it back from her face. "It's all right ..."

With her other hand she reached for Catherine's, and gave it a warm squeeze.

"Whatever the problem is, we'll sort it out, okay?"

Catherine still avoided her eyes. She looked miserable.

"I promise."

Catherine was resolutely silent, but she appeared to relax as Scully sat there with her, and after a few minutes Scully managed to coax her into a sitting position, where she then gave her a long warm cuddle and wiped away a few more of her tears. Then she went to her niece's suitcase and pulled out some clothes and stripped her mute niece of her pyjamas and helped her get dressed. It was an ominous sign when Catherine showed no signs of embarrassment or protest when Scully did this, and Scully knew then that something big must be weighing heavily on her niece's mind. _What on Earth had happened?_

But she stayed calm and gentle as she finished getting her changed, quickly brushed her hair and wiped the rest of her tears, and then packed her belongings into the suitcase. She then took her niece under one arm, her suitcase in her other hand, and walked her downstairs where Zhao was still waiting and Mulder was still interrogating her friends. Zhao immediately took the suitcase and declared he would wait at the car, and Mulder spotted her waiting in the doorway and excused himself from Catherine's worried looking friends. They all looked at Catherine as she stood there, but Catherine refused to meet their eyes and stared only at the carpet. There was however, one girl in the group that Scully did not recognise, and whose obvious worry piqued Scully's interest. She was white, and had dirty blonde hair on the verge of golden brown that hung to her shoulders with a wavy texture. She had a light sprinkle of freckles over her nose, and around her neck was a long woollen scarf with bright stripes of every colour of the rainbow. She looked anxious as Scully saw her try to catch Catherine's eyes, but Catherine was determinedly ignoring everyone in the room.

Scully rubbed her back again.

"You ready to go?" she asked Mulder, giving him a look that indicated they could talk later and for now they had to get Catherine back to the hotel.

"Yeah," he said, also putting his arm around Catherine and throwing a thankful nod to her friends, who looked like they wanted to say something and express their love and concern but had no idea how, or even if she would welcome it.

"Bye Catherine," one of them called kindly, but Catherine ignored them, and when two more echoed the farewell, she appeared to gladly turn away with Scully, eager to leave.

They walked quickly to the car, Catherine still not saying a word, and met Zhao again, who opened the limousine door for them. Scully went to usher her in, but was stopped as a voice yelled out.

"Catherine!"

It was the girl with the rainbow scarf, jogging to catch up. She stopped short several feet away as Catherine looked up, tears in her eyes. For a moment there was silence, each of them looking anxious, the girl with the scarf looking like she had many things to say, but none of them she wanted to say in front of Scully and Mulder.

"Take care," she said eventually. "We'll see you back home."

And Catherine gave her a sad nod before she climbed into the back of the car.

XXX

"Wow," Mulder said, surveying their luxury hotel suite. "Looks like we might be getting that gold-plated bathtub after all."

The suite was indeed luxurious. They were on the top floor with a wide balcony overlooking the city and waterfront. There were two large bedrooms, several large televisions, a spa, mini bar and a pool table. But Scully was not capable of fully appreciating the room as her worry was still centred entirely on Catherine, who had still not said a single word. And with that in mind she led her niece to the bedroom in which the porter had placed her suitcase. There was a luxury double bed and an en suite off to the side, for which Catherine immediately headed and closed the door behind her.

Scully met Mulder in the bedroom doorway.

"You talk to her," he said quietly. "I think she'll open up to you."

"How did you go with her friends?" Scully asked.

"It's like Yvonne said, they don't know anything. They weren't even aware anything was wrong until she didn't get out of bed."

"That girl with the scarf who chased her to the car looked as though she might know something."

Mulder nodded. "I've never seen her before, have you?"

"No," Scully replied. "She must be new."

"Then I'd find out who she is," he suggested. "Maybe she's the key. They might've had a fight. There might even be a boy involved."

Scully looked up, surprised. "You think there's a boyfriend?"

"She's at that age," Mulder argued quietly.

But they were silenced as they heard Catherine washing her hands.

"You talk to her," Mulder said softly, touching her on the arm. "I'll ring home, let Christi know we have her."

Scully nodded and barely a moment later Catherine opened the en suite door. Mulder shut the bedroom one, leaving them alone, and for a moment Catherine stood there, not knowing what to do.

"Come here," Scully said. She put her arm around her and led her to the bed, sitting her down. She took her wrist, checking her pulse, and was surprised to find it was racing.

"You know you can talk to me," Scully started, rubbing her back. "Whatever it is, I'm sure we can work it out between us. And you know I love you, that I'd never judge you. So I want you to know that whatever it is, it's okay."

Catherine had her hands clasped in her lap, and she focused her attention on her fingers.

"Do you think you can talk to me?" Scully asked gently.

Catherine shook her head.

"You can't?" Scully said. "Why is it you feel you can't?"

"You'll tell Mom," Catherine said quietly, sniffing as she spoke her first words since Scully's arrival.

Scully nodded to herself. So that was the problem. "How about if we talk just between us? I promise I won't share anything with anyone else."

Catherine shook her head again.

Scully paused for a moment. Then, trying a different approach, she asked, "The girl with the colourful scarf who said goodbye to you. I don't believe we've met her before. Is she new?"

Catherine nodded miserably.

"What's her name?"

"Janelle."

"Janelle," Scully repeated. "Does she have something to do with this? You both looked a little upset."

Catherine didn't reply. She stared down at her hands.

"Did you have a fight?" Scully pressed gently.

There was a long silence, but Scully's instincts told her not to break it, as Catherine had looked up from her hands a little, and though she was trembling she also looked on the verge of answering.

Eventually she gave a nod, and it was accompanied by several tears slipping out her eyes and more trembling as her walls began to break down.

Scully tightened her grip a little and shifted a fraction closer. She rubbed her back to try to ease her trembling.

"What did you fight about?" she asked.

Catherine did not answer.

"Is there a boy involved?" Scully asked casually. "Have you developed feelings for someone?"

Still Catherine did not answer, but she had tensed as she sniffed and cried, and Scully knew she was close.

"You can be honest with me," Scully assured her. "I'll understand."

"You won't," Catherine said miserably, as tears continued to spill down her cheeks.

"Why do you say that?" Scully asked calmly.

"Because you're Catholic," Catherine replied, still crying.

Momentarily stunned, Scully couldn't help wondering what her Catholic background had to do with anything. As far as Catholicism went, she was the most lapsed of lapsed Catholics, and had hardly embraced many of the principles, either, if the fact that she had lived in sin with Mulder for nearly twenty years was any indication.

"I don't see why that matters," Scully admitted gently. "And before I'm anything else, I'm your Aunt, and your friend."

"You won't understand," Catherine said, still trembling under Scully's hands.

"Yes I will," Scully assured her. "You know every one of us knows what it's like to fall in love. We all had relationships when we were your age, and though we might be older and more settled now that doesn't mean we can't recall exactly what it was like."

"I don't have a boyfriend," Catherine said at last. She was trembling more than ever, actually shaking with nerves. "I -"

But she drifted off, leaving Scully to ponder possibilities as to what the end of that statement could have been.

And in one sudden moment of shock, Scully suddenly understood and all the pieces fell into their respective places. For a moment she was too stunned to speak, but then she took a breath and found her voice again.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" Scully asked gently. "Are you a lesbian?"

There was a long pause as Catherine continued to shake, but then she nodded, and met Scully's eyes with complete nervousness.

Smiling with overwhelming relief, Scully said, "Janelle?"

Catherine nodded again. She relaxed at Scully's smiling expression, and dared a small anxious smile herself.

"Come here," Scully said, as relief continued to flood her that the horrific things she had momentarily been imagining were all false, and she pulled her scared niece into her arms and gave her a tight hug, rocking her back and forth for a long while, saying over and over that it was okay, kissing her hair and rubbing her back until she eventually began to calm again.

At last they pulled away, and Catherine wiped her eyes.

Scully took her hands. "And what did you fight about? Is everything okay?"

"She wanted me to tell you," Catherine blurted, more comfortable now she knew Scully was not going to kick her out of the family. "And I couldn't, because I know how Mom and Dad'll react, and she said I had to just tell them and stop hiding her and -"

In a flash she was anxious again, more tears in her eyes.

"They'll understand," Scully said, thinking there was no mother in the world who would be more understanding than Christi. "I _guarantee _it."

"Mom'll kick me out," Catherine protested. "She won't understand because she loves men. She's always going on about them with Chloe, saying someone on TV looks sexy and asking her about her boyfriends and everything. And Dad's always saying, _'When you get married ...' _and all this, and all Chloe does is hang pictures of half naked guys all over her room like some graphic magazine."

Scully could not help smiling at the accurate description of Chloe's bedroom wall, but focused on the issue at hand.

"Your Mom and Dad love you," Scully said firmly. "And I think you need to give them a little more credit. Just because you have a different sexual orientation it doesn't mean they'll love you any less. I promise you they'll understand, and they'll be supportive. We all will. But I think Janelle is right that you need to be honest with us. If you're sure that this is the way you feel and you'd like to pursue a relationship with her, you need to stop hiding. There's nothing to be ashamed of, and I have to say that although I didn't see much of her, she seemed like a very nice person. Not someone you should be embarrassed about loving."

"I'm not embarrassed," Catherine said. "It's just how everyone else is. We've been together for two months and we haven't even had any time together. It's not fair. I can't see her outside of school because of Mom and Dad and when we are at school all the guys stare like they get off on it or something. And we haven't even ..."

She drifted off, but Scully could guess the end of the sentence. With no time to themselves, and with Catherine's timid nature, the two had probably not even kissed. Maybe they hadn't even held hands. Was this the reason they had both signed up for the trip to China?

"If you tell your Mom and Dad we can help you," Scully said. "I'm sure we'd all like to get to know her a little better."

Catherine looked up hopefully, but at the same time she was overwhelmed with anxiety at having to broach the subject with her parents.

"They'll understand," Scully repeated.

"But what if they don't?" Catherine asked anxiously. "I don't even have an income, I can't support myself -"

"They'll understand," Scully said again.

"But if they don't?" Catherine asked again.

"They will," Scully repeated.

"But what if they don't?"

"Then you come straight back to me," Scully said. "And I'll look after you until they come around. But it won't happen. I promise you they'll understand."

But Catherine continued to look anxious, and she lowered her head again, sighing miserably and as though with defeat.

The sight tugged at Scully's heart strings, and she considered that maybe her niece had had enough emotional turmoil for one day.

"Would you like me to tell her?" Scully offered.

"Yes, please," Catherine pleaded.

"Okay," Scully said, squeezing her hand. "But when she says it's okay I'd like you to get on the phone and talk to her."

Catherine nodded.

"Okay?" Scully asked.

"Okay," Catherine agreed.

XXX

"Hold on, she's right here ..."

Mulder paused his phone conversation as Scully re-entered the room. Catherine had gone to have a shower whilst Scully spoke to the family.

"How'd it go?" he asked, hand over the mouthpiece. "Did she tell you what's wrong?"

"Yes," Scully replied, sitting down on the arm of the lounge chair.

"And?" he prompted.

"And it'll be easier if I tell everyone at once," Scully replied.

Mulder handed her the phone, and Scully sighed with a strange sense of anticipation as she raised it to her ear. Mulder sat down beside her.

"Are you there?" Scully asked.

"We're all here, Dana," Christi replied. "You're on speaker."

"Are the kids in the room?"

"Yeah, they're right here," John replied. "Do you need them to step outside a moment?"

"Just for a moment," Scully confirmed.

"_Why_?" Lachlan protested.

"I just need to talk to your Mom and Dad first," Scully said.

The four kids left in protest, but after a few seconds Charlie said, "Okay, they're all gone. Dana, tell us what's going on. Mulder said you've been talking to her."

"I have," Scully confirmed. "She's quite upset but I managed to get her talking. We were right that there's something on her mind."

"Are you going to tell us or leave us in suspense?" Monica complained.

"Well to put it simply ..." Scully paused and took a breath. "She's homosexual."

For a second there was dead silence on the other end of the line. Scully felt Mulder staring at her beside her.

"She's a lesbian?" Christi asked slowly, taken completely by surprise.

"Yes," Scully said. She gave them another second to absorb the word, and then went on. "She's fallen in love with a new girl at school. Her name's Janelle and they've been having a secret relationship for about two months. In fact I'm suspecting it's half the reason she begged permission to come on this trip."

"Wait," Charlie said suddenly. "Dana, back up a minute. If she's homosexual and has fallen in love, then why was she refusing to get out of bed?"

"Apparently they had a fight," Scully answered. "Janelle was pressuring her to tell us and she didn't feel capable. She felt trapped. She was terrified of how you'd react and worried we'd kick her out and write her out of the will."

"She actually said that?" Christi asked in disbelief.

"I told her we never would," Scully said. "And I think she knows that deep down. She's just afraid and she needs our support."

"Oh my God," Christi said, heart breaking. "The poor, poor thing ..."

And it was then that Scully told them about the other things Catherine had said, about how the two girls hadn't had any time alone at school, her suspicion that they hadn't even kissed, and that this was also another strain on the relationship.

"... and I told her we'd like to meet her," Scully finished.

"Do you know anything about her?" Monica asked.

"Not yet," Scully replied. "We only met her briefly but she seemed nice."

"I can't imagine she'd fall for anyone who wasn't," Charlie said. "And I bet she's smart, too."

"And how is she now?" Christi asked. "Is she okay?"

"She's nervous," Scully said. "But I told her as a condition of me telling you that she had to talk to you afterward."

It was a few minutes later when Catherine emerged from the shower, and when the family in Atlanta were finally easing out of their shock that Scully put Catherine onto the phone. She was nervous as she took the receiver, but Scully kept her arm around her as she tentatively said, "Hello..?" and as Christi immediately launched into a long speech on how they understood, and that they loved her more than anything and it was absolutely completely okay. And Catherine smiled widely and wiped the tears of relief from her eyes, and then Christi went on to say that everyone wanted to meet Janelle, but first of all the most important thing was that she get off the phone, call or contact her over the Internet and make up.

"Just say you're sorry," Christi said, "and that we'd love to meet her when she's back in Atlanta."

"And if she's as nice as you say she is you can bring her around regularly for some private time," John added conspiratorially.

At this Catherine beamed, and Scully could already sense that it was going to be a very long four weeks before the pair were reunited in Altanta. But the anticipation would only add to the fun.

"But first of all apologise," Christi emphasised. "In fact I want you to do it right now. Give the phone back to Dana, and go call her on your cell."

They had given Catherine a cell phone for the trip which had international roaming.

"And when you're done I want you to get back here and tell us all about her," Charlie said. "I'm betting she's smart, isn't she?"

"She's the dux," Catherine replied happily, and Scully did not miss the way her eyes lit up with pride. "Her parents are both doctors. She's going to be a doctor, too. We're going to study medicine together."

"And is she pretty?" Monica asked. Scully could hear the smile in her voice.

Catherine went faintly red. "Yes ..."

"Quit embarrassing her," Christi said, seeing the blush even from so many thousands of miles away. "Go call her sweetie. We all love you."

"I love you too," Catherine said softly, and smiled as she had never smiled before.

* * *

_Next chapter will be the last. What a weird feeling..._


	41. Chapter 41

_Here we go, guys. Last one._

**_Chapter 73 - Janelle_**

"Now remember, I want you to be nice to her."

It was a Tuesday evening just over four weeks later at Christi and Charlie's house, and the evening in which they were due to meet Janelle, who had finally returned from the school trip to China. It had been a long four weeks for Catherine, and during this time of regularly watching her stare blankly at her homework or sadly into space, they all came to see exactly how deeply Catherine felt for her new girlfriend, and the feeling was only heightened now that everything was in the open with the family and she had the go ahead for the relationship. The surprise Christi and Charlie had felt at first had long since disappeared, and Christi had said that on reflection, they should have perhaps seen it earlier. Charlie, for his part, had expressed wonder at whether Melissa had in fact been a lesbian as well, and after feeling shocked by the statement Scully had thought it over and conceded it a possibility. Melissa, while she had had two brief boyfriends in high school, had never had a lasting relationship, nor expressed any real degree of interest in the opposite sex.

And now, these four weeks later, Janelle was due to arrive any minute. The two girls had had a debating team meeting after school in a house a few streets away, and it was arranged that they would walk home from there in time for dinner, and that later one of the adults would give Janelle a lift home.

"I don't see why it's such a big deal," Chloe complained, playing with her cell phone while she sat with them in the kitchen with a sour expression.

"She's nervous," Christi said. "This is a big first for both of them and they need our support."

"You didn't make this big a deal when Adrian came around," Chloe said, glaring at her parents.

"Yes we did," Christi said calmly. "And you know that was different."

"Why?"

"Because it is," Charlie said firmly, cutting in with a firm look at his daughter.

"Why?" Chloe asked again.

"Because he was an _asshole_," Nathan said, as if his cousin was extremely dense.

Monica looked up, unimpressed by her son's language, but it was such an accurate description of Adrian that the reprimand never left her lips and after a second the line was half-heartedly provided by John.

"Watch your language," he said, giving Nathan a look.

Adrian was still a sore point between all the adults and Chloe, as he had turned out to be everything they had feared. Mulder had taken some time to talk to both Adrian and Trent, and while he had come back with an excellent report on Lily's boyfriend Trent - declaring him a nice kid, and one whom Scully had seen was nearly shaking with nerves at being interrogated by Mulder - his opinion on Adrian had been less than flattering. He had stank of cigarette smoke, had a reputation for attending wild parties that the family were doing their very best to steer the kids away from, and also had some casual language that no one had been impressed with. When the evening was at last over, night-time had come with a ban on Adrian ever entering any of their houses again, and Chloe was still fuming.

"Look, we've been over this," Christi said, with an air of struggling to retain her patience. "If you want to go over it again, we're more than happy to, but now's not the time. Just support your sister, be nice to Janelle, and we'll discuss this later."

Chloe still looked sour as she shut her phone, and Monica's expression softened - as it always did when one of the kids was upset.

"You deserve better," she said gently. "You know Adrian was only ever after two things, and neither of them were your happiness."

"After what?" Chloe asked, irritated but genuinely confused.

"Your body and our money," Monica replied, looking into her eyes.

"You don't even have any money," Chloe said.

At this Lachlan looked up from where he had been sitting beside Scully getting help with his mathematics assignment. He gave his sister a disbelieving look.

"Yes they do," he said, staring like he'd never heard her say anything so dumb. A similar expression was on Lily's face, as she turned around from the bench where she'd been helping prepare vegetables for dinner. The girls had drifted apart in recent years. During their childhood they had been best friends, but as teenagers had drifted into different social circles, and Lily was now more like Catherine, focusing on her schoolwork, while Chloe was only interested in having a good time, of which boys were an essential part.

There was a brief tense moment in which Scully exchanged knowing glances with Mulder and John, but Monica kept steady, her gentle eyes on Chloe.

And they heard the front door open, and Catherine's voice as she entered with Janelle, directing her to take off her shoes and where to leave her schoolbag.

Christi and Charlie both looked up.

Monica said softly to Chloe, "She needs your support."

Some of the resentment in Chloe's expression evaporated, and by the time Catherine and Janelle walked nervously into the room, she had successfully masked the rest.

The two girls stopped in the kitchen entrance, and Catherine gave a nervous smile as Janelle stood beside her, looking a little apprehensive but self-confident. They were both still in their school uniform, but Janelle had the same colourful scarf around her neck that Scully had seen her wearing in Shanghai.

"Mom, Dad, this is Janelle."

Christi and Charlie both walked forward with wide smiles to be introduced to Janelle, and shook her hand, saying it was a pleasure to finally meet her. Scully watched with interest and immediately noticed Janelle's strong self-confidence as she firmly shook their hands with a glad smile.

"And this is my Aunt Monica, Uncle John, Grandma and Grandpa, and Uncle Mulder and Aunt Dana," Catherine finished, indicating everyone in turn but skipping over her siblings and cousins, who had already met her at school.

"Hi," Janelle said, as Mulder went to shake her hand, which Scully knew was a part of his profiling strategy, to feel how steady her nerves were. But she appeared to pass the test as she shook his hand professionally, firm yet gentle, not a trace of nervousness.

"I love your scarf," Monica said brightly, admiring the bright rainbow stripes.

"Thanks," Janelle said, smiling. "My Grandmother knitted it for me last year."

"She's a talented woman," Anne said appreciatively. "Those beautiful colours ..."

"She was," Janelle agreed. "She was stuck in hospital with cancer at the time. It kept her busy."

Scully registered the use of her past tense, and exchanged a glance with Mulder. Her Grandmother had obviously not made it, and the fact that Janelle still wore the scarf, even when it was not particularly cold, was a testament to how much she had loved her. Another thing Scully had noticed was her use of the full word "Grandmother", which was also something she had noticed in Monica's language after the crash. It was often a signature of families with class, that they used words like "Mother", "Father" and "Grandmother" instead of "Mom", "Dad" and "Gran". Janelle's family were obviously wealthy, though they had known her parents were doctors.

Eager to change the subject, Scully said, "Catherine tells me your father's a surgeon."

"He is," Janelle said. "He's researching cardiovascular disease at the Institute."

"The Atlanta Institute of Cardiovascular Medicine?" Scully asked, impressed.

Janelle nodded.

"What's his name?" Scully asked curiously.

"Professor Kendall."

Scully immediately found herself holding her breath. Professor Kendall was one of the top cardiovascular researchers in the world, and was responsible for the amazing reputation held by the Institute in Atlanta. He was renowned for operating where others refused, and had desperate patients come to him from all over the world.

"You've heard of him?" Charlie asked, looking confused at how Scully was staring. The name meant nothing to anyone else in the room.

"He's one of the top cardiovascular surgeons in the world," Scully filled them in, as she continued to study Janelle, who was smiling again now. If she had even a fraction of her father's talent, she had an extremely bright future as a doctor. And looking at her now, Scully had little doubt that she had a _lot _more than a fraction of that talent.

Janelle could hold back her grin no longer. "He looked at me the exact same way when I told him about you."

Scully felt more surprise shift inside her, even as John asked, "I wouldn't have thought forensic pathology would be his area of interest."

"It's not normally," Janelle replied, still looking amused. "But he's read all your articles. He says you're the best there is in your field."

Out of the corner of her eye Scully spotted Mulder shift a little and give her a look, and Scully finally looked away and swallowed her momentary awe.

"And your mother?" Monica asked.

"She works in an ER in the city."

Scully registered this, too, with interest. Only the brightest surgeons took places in the Emergency Rooms, as the job required quick thinking and sharp attention. She glanced briefly at Catherine.

Her niece had excellent taste.

XXX

Two hours later Scully was sitting in the kitchen alone with the other adults in the family. It was dark outside now, and it would not be long before they would have to drive Janelle home. But in the time since she had arrived, their liking for her had only increased. Not only was she clearly extremely intelligent and self-confident, but she was a nice girl and interacted well with everyone. She had started the evening by having a game of chess with Catherine, and later on after dinner had played on the X-Box with the other kids, laughing and joking together on the couch. Lily, especially, had risen to the occasion of making Janelle feel welcome and comfortable, and the two got along very well. Nathan and Lachlan had also made an effort to get to know her. Scully and the other adults, for their part, had elected to give the girls a little space, as it was one of the key purposes of inviting Janelle around to give the two a safe environment in which to bond, away from the staring and often teasing remarks of all the other students at school, and the judgemental nature of society at large.

But for all their efforts, it did not eventuate that way. Catherine and Janelle, while they both blitzed the world on anything academic that required intelligence, appeared timid when it came to exploring the physical aspects of their relationship, as it was not only the first relationship for both of them, but also the fact that they were still getting comfortable with their sexual orientation and so kept things at a gentle pace. And while Chloe had found an excuse to whisk Adrian away upstairs, Janelle had remained around the family, and had focused her attention on making an effort to get to know everyone and earning the family's approval.

"So what do you think?" Scully asked quietly, as they gathered around in the kitchen.

"I think it's fantastic," Charlie said, shaking his head as though wondering how they come to be so lucky. "She's smart, kind, confident ... ticks all the right boxes and doesn't have a dick to screw her over with."

"I think they're perfect for each other," Christi said, smiling widely, blue eyes shining, and looking ready to break out the popcorn and watch the most tender romance she had ever seen blossom before her eyes.

"They're shy, though," Monica said softly. "They haven't even touched each other all evening."

"They're just nervous," Scully said, who had also noticed that the two had not even held hands. "We all know it's a first for both of them. It'll come with time."

"I feel sorry for 'em," John said quietly. "Makes you wonder what they must be facin' at school, everyone gawkin' ..."

"Well I think that's where we can help," Mulder said. "If we let her know she's welcome around here ..."

Charlie nodded in agreement. It was so easy to like Janelle that no one had any issues with her, and certainly nothing like they had had with Adrian, or even some of the nervousness they had had with Trent. Though he was a very kind guy and one Monica and John hoped would stick around, they had no doubts that the relationship was not timid like Catherine and Janelle's, and John didn't want it getting too physical too soon. But with Janelle Scully had the feeling that the entire house could have been empty and the two would still have only played chess and discussed their arguments for their upcoming debate against the number one team on the ladder. They needed a nudge, unlike the other kids where Christi had felt she needed a crowbar or a pack of condoms.

"I think you're right that they haven't kissed," Monica said to Scully.

"Maybe we can help with that," Christi said, eyeing the two girls who were still playing the X-Box game on the couch.

"We can't do it for 'em," John pointed out.

But they fell silent as at that moment Catherine came into the kitchen while Lachlan duelled Janelle on the X-Box. She was smiling from ear to ear as she approached her parents.

It seemed she could hold on no longer, and after glancing over her shoulder to see the others were still occupied, said nervously to Christi, "What do you think?"

Christi slid her arm around her daughter's waist. "I think she is _absolutely _perfect."

Catherine beamed with relief and the love for Janelle shone through in full force.

"She's fantastic," Monica added.

"Smart, kind, made an effort with everybody," John said, giving her a look of approval.

Catherine beamed even wider.

"Good looking," Charlie contributed, giving her a wink.

"She's definitely special," Scully said.

"A keeper," Mulder said.

With everyone's approval Catherine could not stop smiling. Christi rubbed her back, almost as happy as her daughter was.

"Between you and me, you're welcome to bring her around as often as you like," Christi said, with an air of keeping the secret from Chloe, lest she should want the same rights with any of her disasters. "We'd love to see more of her."

"Thanks," Catherine said, looking overjoyed.

"But I think maybe you should think about gathering your things for tonight," Christi went on, glancing at the clock. "Her parents will be expecting her home soon."

Catherine nodded.

"Go on," Christi said. "Dana will give you a lift."

Catherine returned to the living room where the two girls went to find their shoes and for Janelle to grab her schoolbag. Catherine would accompany them on the journey to drop Janelle back home.

"May we remind you whose daughter she is?" John said, giving Christi a look at dobbing Scully in for the drive.

"That's just the point," Christi said, with a grin in Scully's direction. "You know she'll never kiss her goodnight with us there. With you, she just might."

"You bring her back without having had a kiss, you're in trouble," Monica teased. Like Christi, she had been enjoying watching the tender romance and was beaming with approval.

"I doubt I'll have much influence in that direction," Scully said doubtfully.

"Wrong," Mulder said, standing up with her. "In case you haven't noticed, Scully, she worships you. And if the great Dr Dana Scully can drop a hint that it's normal and okay, just give her a little nudge this first time, I think you'll be surprised with the results."

Scully opened her mouth in doubt, but at that moment the two girls returned, shoes on, and Janelle with her heavy schoolbag over her shoulder.

"Just let me grab my keys," Scully said, and on the way out of the room spotted the grins of Monica and Christi, and knew they would demand a full report when she returned.

XXX

"Yeah, right here ..."

Scully rolled the car to a stop outside the house Janelle had directed her to. It was completely dark now, and hard to see much in the quiet, leafy street. But in the little moonlight she could see that it was a large two storey house in an expensive area, and also that there were no lights on in any of the windows. The house looked dead.

"It doesn't look as though anyone's home," Scully said, with a touch of concern. She had planned on meeting Janelle's parents, introducing herself.

"They're still at work but I have a key," Janelle explained, sounding unconcerned as she reached for the door handle. Then she said maturely, "It was a pleasure to meet you Doctor Scully. Thanks for giving me a lift home."

"Dana," Scully corrected, giving her a smile as she popped the trunk open so she could fetch her bag. "And you're more than welcome."

Scully looked away as she saw Janelle turn to Catherine in the back seat, but she heard nothing of the goodbye she hoped the two would share. There was not even enough movement to suggest a hug at the very least, and Scully felt the intrusion of her own presence.

"Bye," Janelle said, tenderness in her voice.

"I'll see you at school tomorrow," Catherine replied, with equal tenderness.

There was a moment of quiet, and then Scully heard Janelle open the car door and looked around as she got out and went around to the back of the car, fetching her schoolbag.

"Walk her to the door," Scully said quietly to Catherine. "Go say goodnight."

Catherine gave her a surprised look, just as Janelle shut the trunk again.

"I won't look," Scully said, and reached between the seats to give her a nudge on the back before making a show of turning around again and switching on the radio, completely ignoring the two girls.

She heard Catherine hesitate for a moment, but then she threw open the car door and Scully heard her shoes jogging on the concrete as she hurried after Janelle already heading for the front door. Determined to give the two a chance, Scully deliberately continued to avert her eyes, gazing around at the dark streetscape instead. She gave them a minute or two, and when she heard nothing more risked a glance at the porch, where a light had automatically turned on, and she was just in time to see the two girls kiss, slowly leaning in before softly touching lips, Catherine's hands on Janelle's waist as though they had just separated from a hug. Scully felt a sense of pride as she could tell that Catherine had been the one to initiate it, and had overcome her nerves to have the moment the two had dreamed about for so long. And although it was not a perfect kiss, as it looked slightly awkward as neither were a hundred percent sure of what they were doing, it was somehow incredibly touching as it was so tender and gentle that it was evident how in love the two really were. Eventually Catherine broke away again, and they looked into each other's eyes as they pulled away before both began to grin with pleasure.

Scully deliberately looked away again so neither would spot the fact that she had watched the moment. She could hardly resist smiling herself.

A minute later Catherine was opening the passenger side door, and slipped back into the front seat. She was grinning from ear to ear, and went red as Scully smiled at her.

"How'd it go?" Scully risked asking, as she started the ignition again.

But Catherine sank back into the seat with a wide grin on her face and couldn't reply.

Scully struggled to bite back her grin and touched her niece's hand, giving it a brief squeeze.

"Satisfactory, I take it," she said as she pulled out into the dark street.

"Oh my God," Catherine said, grinning so hard and looking so dreamy she was breathless. "Oh my _God _..."

And Scully did not get another comprehensible word out of her for the entire trip home, and neither did Christi when she aimlessly wandered back into the house as though struck by cupid's arrow, and Scully heard the next day that she had emerged from her bedroom that morning with a look of having had next to no sleep. And it was the following weekend when Janelle was invited back around for a study session on an assignment the two had, and from that week on Janelle became a regular part of the family. It had saddened Christi, though, that it seemed that Janelle's parents were so rarely around. So often when they picked her up or dropped her home there was no one there, and with her having no siblings it seemed a lonely existence, however much she did in fact worship her parents and was so self-reliant that their absence did not matter. But under the supportive roof of the extended Doggett-Scully family, the two girls found their happiness and their romance blossomed in all directions in the weekends and years to come, and it was with amazement that the family later looked back on that time and worshipped the day Catherine brought Janelle into the family.

XXX

**_Chapter 74 - Going Home_**

It was six years later, the summer Janelle and Catherine received their offers into Medical School, and the summer Scully took them to the beach house for a study week to give them a head start on the astronomical amount of information they would have to learn over the coming year. The pressure on Janelle and Catherine was also two-fold, as they had the ordinary pressure of finally making it into medicine only face the toughest challenge yet as the bar of competition was raised yet again, and both had also inherited high expectations from the professors based on the fact that Catherine was Scully's niece, and Janelle the daughter of Professor Kendall. For both Scully and Professor Kendall had built up world class reputations in their fields, and Scully's own career had gone from strength to strength since she had first resigned from the Bureau and joined the teaching staff at the Medical School when Catherine had still been a baby.

They sat in the living room of the beach house, the sun scorching the sand outside and the waves crashing onto the shore in a rhythmic temptation that Scully knew was driving both girls crazy. But this was the nature of medicine, and this was the commitment they had undertaken. If they were going to make it, they had to learn to focus and reject all distractions. Both girls knew this, of course, and considering how hard Scully had been pushing them all day long, they were holding up very well. At the moment, as evening drew near, Scully sat in an armchair, surrounded by piles of anatomy textbooks. They had started on the skeletal system today, and Scully had gone through the chapter with them, was quizzing them relentlessly to drive all the information home, and to keep their interest up threw in several anecdotes and relevant case studies she had come across throughout the years. It had taken several hours before Scully had finally found Janelle and Catherine's limits, as they were both capable in the extreme, but as the sheer quantity of information they had to memorise built up they eventually began to feel the weight of it.

"I have such a headache," Janelle moaned. She was upside down on the couch, her legs against the backrest and her head on the edge of the cushions with her wavy golden hair dangling towards the floor.

On the opposite armchair Catherine was sprawled with her legs dangling over the armrest, on the point of mental exhaustion. But still she managed a smile as she looked at her long term partner lying upside down with her hands over her face.

"What lobe?" Catherine teased, grinning with admiration that had not dimmed in the least since the two girls had first met in school six years ago.

"Focus," Scully reminded them. "We'll break when the pizza gets here."

Janelle swung her legs down again and pushed herself to sit up properly. She pulled the heavy textbook toward her again and flicked a few pages back, checking a fact. Catherine looked back down to her notebook in her lap and began reading again, memorising over and over. Scully had already promised a practice exam first thing in the morning, which would include the types of questions on the skeletal system that would come up in a typical anatomy exam. And being on the panel of exam markers, Scully knew exactly what these often were.

Nevertheless she understood why Catherine was having trouble focusing today, when she was normally very talented in blocking out everything else in the room. Yesterday before they had left Atlanta, the day after the two girls had received their offers, the family had held a congratulatory party. Bill, Tara, Lizzie and Sarah had been able to make it over from San Diego, though Matthew was currently at sea, and they had rewarded Catherine for all her hard work in making it that far. As a reward present, the family had bought her a brand new BMW, and the four survivors had also passed down her inheritance. The inheritance had in fact been passed down four months earlier than planned, as for Matthew, Lizzie and Sarah the accepted age had been twenty-one years, and Catherine was only twenty. But Scully had successfully argued that the circumstances warranted it, as Catherine was still living at home and commuting into the city every day, and this was an arrangement they would no longer have time for once she was studying medicine. Having that money would enable the two girls to find an apartment together close to campus, saving them a lot of time and also fulfilling the two girls' dream of living together independently. Catherine had been overwhelmed enough by the gift of the car, and when the survivors had sprung the inheritance on her she had so shocked she had had no idea what to say, had clung to them all in overwhelmed teary hugs, and still even now hadn't come back down to Earth.

All of a sudden there was a knock at the door.

"Pizza's here," Catherine said happily, and leapt up from the armchair, snatching up her wallet from the coffee table and jogging to the door. Janelle closed her books and went with her.

They ate together, watching the news on television, and when they had all had enough and cleared away Janelle and Catherine went down to the beach for a walk, and Scully went to the verandah overlooking the ocean and the waves and settled herself down in the outdoor furniture to watch the beautiful sunset as the beams sparkled on the water. In the tide up near the headland Catherine and Janelle were jogging and laughing, bare-footed, and Scully glanced in their direction as they grasped hands, swung each other around, and went tumbling down to the wet sand where they soon began kissing. Scully averted her eyes, leaving them alone. She knew, as she had for several years, that the two were now in a sexual relationship, and so was careful to give them space. She had deliberately chosen a bedroom up the other end of the house to the one the girls were using, and even though the trip to the beach was a study trip, these evening breaks were special for the girls' relationship and Scully knew looking forward to the evenings was what kept them studying so hard all day long. The one thing that troubled Scully was the same thing that troubled Christi and Charlie - a lingering sadness that the two would never be able to formally marry as the others could, yet the two girls didn't appear to be bothered by this fact, and didn't let it stop them from having a loving long term relationship, and Christi and Charlie had, for their part, long ago embraced Janelle as another daughter. Monica, for her smiling contribution had told Catherine in confidence that if either of them ever wanted IVF to have children, the family would pay for it. And though the two certainly weren't at that stage yet, as they were entirely focused on building careers, Scully did wonder if the time might come one day, down the track.

As Scully sat there gazing out at the horizon she could not help but reflect yet again on how incredibly lucky the family had been. Not only with Catherine and Janelle, but with all the other kids as well. Matthew, 26, had turned into a kind man, and an asset to the Navy under the reputable Scully name, and despite his months at sea now had a steady girlfriend named Jess, who was a lawyer, and whom he had actually met through Lizzie. Lizzie, 23, was surpassing everyone's wildest expectations. After leaving school she had initially taken an Arts degree, majoring in history and political science, and had then studied journalism. She had completed a cadetship with a San Diego newspaper and had recently announced that she had accepted a transfer to Washington, where she could put her qualifications and interest in politics to good use. Scully had immediately offered her her old apartment, which they had leased out to FBI agents over the years but which was currently empty, and Lizzie was due to move there in another month. And Sarah, 21, whilst she didn't have the driving ambition of her older siblings, had also found her niche in life. She had taken a degree in Early Childhood Education, and had a loving affection for all children accompanied by an offbeat sense of humour that kept them all entertained. She was due to finish her course in another year, and in the meantime, despite having her inheritance, was still content with living at home with her parents.

In Atlanta, meanwhile, things had also turned out well, even though they hadn't gone to plan. It was Lily who had thrown the first curveball. She had matured magnificently, and had even begun joining them on their trips to Washington every January, finally seeing her parents for who they really were and stepping up to support them. She was also in a long term relationship with Trent, the skinny boy with the messy brown hair she had first brought home at age fifteen, and who had since grown into a handsome man studying finance and economics. But it was in her career intentions that she had shocked them. Of all the kids she had always been the most uncertain about what she had wanted to do with her life, and had chosen a general degree in science while she thought about it. But she had shocked them all when, a year ago now, she had cornered Scully and asked if she thought she had what it took to study medicine. Scully had been stunned by the question, as Lily had never before shown any interest in that career path, but was quick to encourage her in it nonetheless. Lily was extremely capable academically, and it was unfortunate that she sometimes tended to get lost in the shadows of Catherine and Janelle, and also by Lizzie, who went from strength to strength. But medicine was Lily's current ambition, and Scully was helping her just as she was committed to helping Catherine and Janelle.

Nevertheless Monica and John had barely got over the shock of Lily's sudden career ambition before they were slammed by those of Nathan - who declared he was joining the police force. It was this that had nearly shattered the family - as Monica and John had both hit the roof at mere idea having their son join law enforcement. A huge part of this was what had happened in the mountains, but also Monica had argued on the basis of what she had seen during her time in the FBI, what John had been put through during his time as a cop in New York, and had bombarded Nathan with endless stories of horror - rounding it off nicely with a reminder of how Scully had been shot and nearly died, and when Nathan had innocently said, "So?" Monica had been so irate she had actually told him to get out, and he had moved next door to Christi and Charlie's while Scully and Mulder spent the night trying to calm Monica and John down again. Nathan knew the risks, and as he was eighteen they had no right to stop him. After spending half the night holding Monica and trying to reason her out of seeing her son's premature death, it was only when Lily came down heavily on Nathan's side that the parents had eventually given in, preferring to reluctantly accept it rather than lose the love of both kids and split the family long term.

Lachlan's life was moving along smoothly, and his current intention was to take a degree in commerce, but it was Chloe who had nearly fallen off the rails. Off all the kids she had been knocked around the most by her teen years and hormonal changes, and it was only by a miracle disaster that she had been rescued again. It had started with boyfriends, of which Adrian had been the first, and she had had many relationships, some short and meaningless, others lasting several months before falling apart as she became bored, but only a year after Adrian Monica had smelled smoke on her one day after school, leading to the realisation that she had started smoking. Christi and Charlie, of course, had been less than impressed, and it had led to another fight with her as they forbade it and ordered the other kids to let them know if they saw her smoking at school again. Not long after this reports also filtered through that she had got drunk at a party - which she had assured Christi was just a girls' night sleepover at a friends' house, but had turned out to be all the girls going on from there to a party of hundreds of teens that had attracted police attention. From that point, Christi and Charlie had banned her from hanging around those friends, and had drawn on Lily's help to put her back into a group of good people, but it hadn't been until the final straw a month after her seventeenth birthday that they had eventually brought it all to a head.

Even these years later, Scully remembered it vividly. She had been in the living room with Mulder around one in the morning, as Scully finished off some marking and Mulder was absorbed in an intriguing case he had been asked by Jana Cassidy to provide his views on, when there had been a knock at the side door. Knowing the rest of the family would have long been in bed, Scully had expected to find Monica or John sneaking across as they often did when the trauma hit and they needed company, so Scully had hurried to her feet and opened the door and had been shocked to find Chloe standing there in her pyjamas, cheeks wet with tears, arms crossed anxiously. Knowing immediately something was horribly wrong, Scully took her inside under her arm, and her fears were solidified when Chloe, voice shaking, asked if they could talk alone. Scully had ushered her upstairs, and it was in the spare bedroom that Chloe confessed she thought something was wrong, and after examining her Scully had diagnosed her as having an STD. Scully had privately suspected for several months prior that she had become sexually active - and quite loosely so - following the wild party she had attended with her out of control friends. But seeing her niece sitting on the edge of the bed, trying not to cry when she was usually so full of self-confidence and biting attitude struck Scully deeply, and she hadn't been able to feel anything but sympathy. Scully had hugged her, and as Chloe fell into her arms and tearfully apologised Scully knew the turning point had come - in the form of a harsh wake up call - but it had come. Shortly after Christi and Charlie had been shaken awake, and Scully had broke the news before making an emergency trip to the all night pharmacy in the next suburb. Afterward Christi had talked with Chloe until dawn, having a heart to heart about sex, divulging full details of her own sex life in her youth, her stupid mistakes with all the wrong men and the miracle that she had met Charlie. And by the time sunrise struck Christi's relationship with her daughter had been mended to be stronger than it had ever been, and Chloe was back on the right road again. She resumed hanging around with Lily at school, and in the right group of friends made an effort with her school work again. The following January she came with the family to the memorial service in Washington, and it was here that her maturity was sealed, as she took a genuine interest, shocked by what she was seeing, and after requesting to read Scully's book, and being granted permission, she had surprised everyone by seeking Mulder's thoughts on becoming a psychologist. And now, at nineteen years of age, she was continuing with that ambition, and was working harder than they had believed her capable of, and the entire family were proud of how she had turned her life around, and the past was buried, just as Monica's own wild days with Follmer were long buried, and as Christi's were with Mark.

"Are you all right?"

Scully snapped out of reverie as Catherine waved a hand in front of her face, smiling down at her. The ends of her long red hair were wet and caked with sand. Janelle stood beside her, peering down at Scully with concern.

"You look deep in thought," Janelle said, sitting down in a chair as Catherine perched on the edge of Scully's armrest and rubbed her shoulder, as she did when she instinctively knew where Scully's thoughts inevitably drifted to.

"I'm all right," Scully said, gazing back out at the ocean, where the light was fading. "Just thinking about time, how it passes so quickly."

"You're not feeling old?" Janelle asked.

"Well you know I _am _getting old," Scully said with a sigh, and that was true. She had been 37 when the plane crashed, and now, twenty-one long years ahead, she was 58 - around the age Anne and Jack had been at the time of the accident. Mulder was 61, and beginning to feel some of his age as he found himself no longer as fit as he had been in the past, and also his interest in sex diminish. John was 60 and also complained of no longer feeling as fit as he had been, although he ploughed ahead with life without letting it get to him. Monica, 54, had stumbled through menopause in recent years, and now dyed her hair as she had been annoyed to find some greys amongst the strands and was determined to never find any more of them. But she looking stunning for her age, as did Christi, and for all the twenty-one years that had passed they had barely gained a wrinkle between them and Christi's figure was as stunning as it had ever been.

"Dad told me once that the ocean reminds you of your father," Catherine said intuitively, following Scully's gaze. "My Grandfather."

"You know he was only a few years older than I am now when he died," Scully said, feeling a pang in her chest. It was so, so long ago now ...

"You'll live a long time yet," Janelle said.

"That's right," Catherine said, giving Scully's shoulder another squeeze.

And yet Scully could not believe them, as the odds that they would all live another twenty or thirty years were long. And she thought of her father, dead at 64, and all those people in that plane crash who should have had another 50 years on what they had ended up with. Poor Holly and Kim, cut short in their thirties. Death seldom went to plan in life, and already ill health was creeping into their happy family, as Mrs. Scully, in her 80s, found herself to be less and less mobile as her legs began to give up on her. The previous winter she had had a bad cold which had worried everyone, and Scully had half expected it to turn into pneumonia. Charlie had again invited her to move to Atlanta, and this time Mrs. Scully was considering the idea as she lost her independence and her health became patchy.

"Something's bothering you," Catherine said gently, moving her hand to grasp Scully's. "What is it?"

Scully considered the statement, but the problem felt hard to pin down. She felt as if she had missed something somewhere in her life, sailed by when she should have stopped and paused a while, and now she looked back on her life and wondered what it was that was bothering her. It was not her age, as she didn't let it get to her in the way it got to Monica. And neither was it the fact that eventually, their surviving foursome would split as death inevitably crept up on them. The fact of losing any one of her three friends terrified Scully, but on this occasion it was not this fact that was the culprit. She knew that would be an issue, and it was one Deirdre had long ago talked about with them. Whether they survived when the loss came would be another thing, but they knew of that issue and Scully was certain her problem was something she had forgotten about. A promise she had made but never kept ...

And then she knew, saw it clearly in front of her as her mind went back to that snowy mountain plain, to a memory from one year after their plane had collided with that mountaintop. They had not made it to the service that first year, as Monica had been in the early stages of pregnancy with Lily. But Scully had followed the event in the news nonetheless, and there had been a page of that newspaper that Scully had removed and carefully folded away. It had been a photo of the crash site, but showing the unveiling of a new stone memorial with the names of all the dead, as well as the names of the four survivors. The Canadian Prime Minister had joined with Jana Cassidy in cutting the ribbon, so that the loss would never be forgotten, and Scully had stared at that photo and felt the pull in her heart to see that stone memorial in person, yet she had not been able to even face the real prospect of going back at the time.

"I'm going to call Mulder," Janelle said, as Scully remained silent. The two girls knew her post-traumatic stress well now, and a failure to respond was all they needed. Janelle got up and walked back into the house.

"Talk to us," Catherine said calmly, squeezing her hand and trying to catch Scully's eyes.

"I made a promise a long time ago," Scully said quietly, her heart wracked with guilt at how her dead friends had been left ignored for twenty-one long years. "A promise I've never fulfilled."

"What was that promise?"

And Scully felt burning tears leave her eyes as her heart nearly imploded with the pain.

"To tell them I loved them," Scully said, voice breaking as the pain ripped out her chest. "That I've never forgotten them."

"I'm sure they know that," Catherine said soothingly, squeezing Scully's fingers. "That's why we go every year."

Scully shook her head. "I want to go home." She paused and swallowed. "I _need _to go home."

Catherine stared at her. "You mean to Canada."

"To Canada," Scully said, nodding through her tears. She looked up at her niece on her armrest. "But I can't go alone."

Janelle wandered back out, cell phone in her hand. She approached Scully's chair. "He wants to talk to you."

"Let me," Catherine said, and she took the phone instead and walked away out of earshot, down the stairs to the beach, to break the hardest news Scully had ever had to hold.

XXX

It was Summertime, and yet the enormous Rockies stood as tall as ever, and even at this time of year snow still capped all the highest peaks where the survivors had been stranded, and as the helicopter in which they flew wove around the peaks, Scully grasped Mulder's hand hard as she recognised the trail the four of them had eventually taken, weaving their way down to civilisation.

"Fucking hell," came John's voice through her headset, as the noise of the helicopter obscured everything else. "It hasn't changed one bit. Twenty-one long damn years and it looks exactly the same."

"Is that where you hiked out?" Catherine asked, turning around from her front seat to glance at Scully.

"All the way out," Scully confirmed, pointing against the window. "We followed that ridge, all the way to that far peak."

"I don't believe it," Lily said, from the opposite window. She, like Nathan, was riding in this helicopter with them while the rest of the family were in the helicopter following behind, amongst them not just Charlie and Christi with their other two kids, but also Lizzie and Sarah, and Bill and Tara, all of whom couldn't miss the opportunity to see it all for real.

"You were crazy," Nathan said, shaking his head at the peaks that stretched to the horizon in every direction. His eyes were wide as he looked around his seat at his parents.

"It made us crazy," Mulder agreed.

Monica was quiet, and Scully reached for her hand, giving it a hard squeeze. She could feel her trembling.

"Let us know if you need to be sick," Janelle said, spotting Monica's white face. She had a sick bag ready in her hands.

"It's just over this rise," the pilot called, pointing the peak on their left they were flying around. A wall of rocks and snow was suddenly at Scully's window. She felt Mulder grip her hand harder.

"That's the one we hiked with Kim," John recalled, leaning over to peer out Scully's window with fascination. "Fuckin' hell ..."

"It looks even nastier from this angle," Mulder agreed.

"Personally I didn't find it particularly welcoming at the time," Scully said.

"You must've been _so _fit," Lily said, shaking her head in wonder.

"We were," Mulder said. "Thanks to the FBI."

"We wouldn't have survived otherwise," Scully agreed, suddenly grateful for the gruelling physical training they had had inflicted on them all those years ago.

"Right here!" the pilot called.

And suddenly the location of the crash came into sight, and the helicopter wove around the last set of rocks before the snow covered plain came into view, the stone memorial sitting lonely in its centre. It was a tall memorial; the FBI had spared no expense. It was raised up with a platform and fence circling all the way around, to accommodate for the high winter snowline, and had metal stairs that went down to the ground.

"Oh my God ..." Monica said, holding her breath.

And all Scully could do was stare. Except for the memorial, nothing had changed. Every rock was the same, the covering of snow made it look the same, and the overwhelming sense of isolation still gripped her even in the helicopter. She could still see the blood-stained snow, the wreckage of the crash, and the frozen bodies as if they were still there.

There was silence in the helicopter as the pilot circled for a moment, debating the safest spot to land. The snow was not deep, though, and after a moment he chose a spot at the edge of the field where the rocky surface was more stable. Scully glanced behind them to see the second helicopter touch down not far away.

"Do you still want to do this?" Mulder asked, sounding doubtful of his ability to get out and actually put his feet back on the same ground that nearly killed them so many times over.

But Scully nodded as she glanced at the beautiful bouquets of flowers resting at their feet.

"I'm sure," she said, drawing up her courage with a deep breath. It was now or never, and she had not suffered the long plane ride and the expense of hiring two helicopters to fly all the way up the Rockies only to back out again.

"Are we getting out?" Catherine asked, turning around in her seat.

"We're gettin' out," John confirmed, with the same tone of bravery Scully had employed.

Catherine reached for the door latch and opened it, and carefully climbed down into the snow. They were all in snow gear, as though it was nowhere as deep as it had been during those brutal winter months of the crash, it was still enough to sink down in, and was still bitterly cold. Janelle jumped down after her, and then Catherine walked around to Scully's door and pulled it open as Scully unbuckled her seatbelt, her hands shaking.

"Pass us the flowers," Lizzie said, as she arrived with the others from the second helicopter.

Scully and Mulder gathered up the flowers and passed them out first to the girls, and then she glanced around again at John and Monica in time to see Monica swallow her nerves and flick her hair over her shoulder with the same determined courage that had saved all their lives twenty-one years ago.

"Let's go," John said, opening his own door on the opposite side.

"Aunt Dana," Catherine said, holding up her hand to help her out. Scully took the offered hand and climbed out, jumping down the last foot or so where Lizzie and Catherine caught and steadied her. Mulder jumped out after her and straightaway they joined hands again, grasping tightly. In a moment they were joined by Monica and John, also holding hands tightly as they made their way around the back of the helicopter, Lily and Nathan either side of them. John held his spare hand out to take one of the bunches of flowers from Sarah. All four of them had chosen a bunch back in Vancouver. Scully took her own from Lizzie.

"And there it is," Bill said, looking over at the memorial a short distance away and then around at the mountains.

There was a moment of silence as they all soaked in the atmosphere. Scully could feel Mulder's hand trembling, and Christi sensed it, too, and she moved to put her arm around him. Chloe stood a few feet away, turning on the spot, gazing out with interest at the sheer isolation of where they were. Lachlan went to stand with her.

"And the plane went down right there?" Charlie asked gently, indicating where the memorial stood.

"Same spot," Scully confirmed, taking another deep breath to steady herself.

"Let us know if your chest feels tight," Tara said.

"No, I'm fine," Scully said.

There was another moment of silence, which John finally broke when he looked around and said, "Shall we go take a look?"

Scully nodded and went to take a step, but Mulder held tight to her hand and she stopped straightaway. His face was white, and in a flash Monica and John were standing with them.

"What's the matter?" Monica asked, standing in front of him and rubbing his upper arm with tender concern.

"I just need a minute," he said quietly, busy gathering his nerves.

"You look unsteady on your feet," Scully said worriedly. "Do you need to sit down?"

He shook his head and tried to take a deep breath as Scully had. Scully put her arm around him and rubbed his back, more than happy to give him the time he needed.

"I can't believe how quiet it is," Christi said, making conversation as they waited for him to recover. "It's all so still. A whole world away."

"It's beautiful," Lily said, looking around at the incredible view with the snow-capped mountains stretching as far as the eye could see. Lizzie had brought a digital camera with her, and she held it up and took a photo. This would be the first and only time they would return.

"Only when you have a helicopter to take you out again," Monica corrected.

"And it's Summer," Bill added. "Wouldn't have been pretty in winter. All those blizzards you sat through."

"No, it wasn't," Scully agreed, recalling with a twist of her stomach how Monica had nearly died in one such blizzard, and how Kim and Skinner had been claimed by another. "It's beauty like a poisoned apple."

Catherine moved closer in response to her statement, her gloved hand enclosing around her elbow.

"You'd better put your sunglasses on," John advised Sarah. "We don't want you gettin' snow blindness."

Sarah pulled them out of her pocket and slipped them on. Everyone else had theirs on already. Scully had already warned them of the danger of UV rays reflecting on the snow when they had arrived in Vancouver and gone to hire their snow gear.

Mulder squeezed Scully's hand, and Scully paused rubbing his back.

"Are you all right?"

"Better," he confirmed, and gently tugged on her hand and looked up at Monica and John. "Let's go take a look."

The group slowly made their way over the snow, as the two pilots got out of their helicopters and took a look around themselves. They reached the metal stairs that climbed to the platform and Catherine went first, carefully placing one foot after another.

"Be careful, it's slippery," she advised, gripping the railing as she went.

Scully hesitated, and had to take another breath as she found courage to climb those stairs and finally look straight into the memories of what had happened. She gripped the hard railing and slowly followed Catherine up. Mulder came behind her, and then Lily and Nathan, gently helping their parents along as their nerves faltered.

They reached the top of the stairs and Scully walked around the memorial, looking at the inscription. On three sides there were lists of names of those who had lost their lives, those in the FBI with their position written underneath their name. On the fourth side was the memorial message and it was in front of this side that Scully paused as Mulder put his arm around her shoulders, and Scully around his waist, and as Monica and John stood next to them, flowers in their hands.

Janelle, standing beside Catherine, slowly read the inscription aloud:

"Dedicated to the loving memory of those hereby listed, who tragically lost their lives in a plane crash on this spot on 14th January 2003. May your sacrifice in the service of our Nations never be forgotten. And dedicated also to those who survived, whose courage and display of human spirit shall inspire for eternity. Signed by Paul Martin, Prime Minister of Canada, and Director Jana Cassidy, Federal Bureau of Investigation, U.S.., 14th January 2004."

Holding onto Mulder's hand, Scully knelt down and carefully placed the bouquet of flowers at the base of the memorial. Mulder settled his own bunch of flowers beside hers, and then Monica and John their own as well. For a moment the four of them knelt there together, holding onto each other, their heavy emotions meaning they could not even stand up again. John had tears in his eyes. Monica gazed at the flowers without really seeing them.

"And you're all here," Charlie said, standing on the next side of the memorial. "Dr. Dana Scully, Survivor, Special Agent Fox Mulder, Survivor, Special Agent Monica Reyes, Survivor, Special Agent John Doggett, Survivor."

"My maiden name," Monica said with disgust. She had happily taken the name Doggett upon marrying John, and these days she could not even tolerate hearing the surname with the memories it provoked. It had been the remainder of the family who had filled in Lily and Nathan on their mother's family history when they had been young.

"That's who we were at the time," Scully said softly. "In Memory."

"Everyone else is listed here, too," Bill said, walking around the other sides of the memorial. "Assistant Director Walter Skinner, Born 2nd May 1945, Died 23rd January 2003. Assistant Director Bradford Follmer, Born 15th October 1962, died 18th January 2003. And Holly and Kimberly are here ... and the pilots ..."

Scully nodded, wishing all of a sudden that he would stop reading names. It was too much. The pain in her heart was excruciating.

For a moment the only noise was footsteps shifting on the metal platform as their family members moved to look at each side of the memorial. They seemed to understand that the survivors wanted space, though, and no one tried to urge them to their feet. This was what they had come for.

"I think we need a minute alone," John said, looking up at everyone.

"Okay," Tara said, understanding.

"Take your time," Christi said, as she leaned down and gave him a kiss on the cheek before ushering her children down the stairs again. After a minute they were all back down on the snow, and began walking around, taking a look at the views.

The four survivors were silent for a moment. Scully shifted her position on the metal platform, lowering herself to sit down in front of the flowers. She did not raise her eyes to the names. She did not need to read letters and birth dates, as she had known the actual people, seen them in crisis for everything they were. She held onto Mulder as he held equally tight onto her, and with her other hand she gripped Monica's, equally tight, as John took another deep breath at the other end.

"I can still feel them here," Monica said quietly. "They never left."

Scully nodded. She had the same eerie feeling.

"Maybe we never left, either," Mulder said.

"No, we didn't," Scully agreed. They existed in Atlanta. They lived on the mountain.

"It's all such a long time ago," John said, shaking his head and looking down at a patch in the snow where Scully, too, could see the line of bodies, blood against the perfect white.

"We had ten lifetimes of pain in twelve days," Mulder said. "We've all changed so much."

There was a brief pause. Monica reached to adjust the position of the one of the bunches of flowers, making it sit better. Off across the snow plain Lizzie was taking another photo.

"We should get a group picture while we're up here," John suggested. "The entire family. Get the pilot to take it."

"We should," Scully agreed. "We'll never be here again."

"We'll always be here," Monica said, reminding her of her own words. "For better or worse, from the day our plane went down there was never any escape."

"It wasn't all for the worse, though," Mulder said. "Some of it was for the better."

He nodded off at their family, and in particular the incredible children they now had: Lizzie, Sarah, Catherine, Janelle, Chloe, Lachlan, Lily and Nathan, and Matthew off at sea, who would have joined them if he had been anywhere else, and for whom Lizzie was now taking the photos.

"Look at what we gained," Mulder finished.

"And not just them," Monica agreed, brightening as she always did in her love for the children. "We gained each other."

Scully smiled and squeezed her hand. "We certainly did."

"You know I can't even remember how things were before that," John said in wonder. "What the hell we did with ourselves."

"God knows," Monica agreed. "Maybe we would have ended up going in circles forever."

"Do you think it's wrong?" John asked uncomfortably. "To be glad it happened?"

Monica shrugged. "I think if I'd died, the number one thing I would have wanted was for everyone else to move on and be happy. And despite how hard it was, we have made it. And our lives have been richer in every direction because of it."

Scully felt Mulder kiss her hair and she gripped him tighter as she turned her head and kissed him briefly on the lips.

"Marry me, Scully."

Scully looked up from the flowers, wondering if she'd heard right.

"Marry me," he repeated softly, rubbing her back.

Stunned, Scully could only stare. But he appeared to mean it, as he looked at her with soft eyes, filled entirely with love and awe for her that he was usually so guarded in displaying. But she saw clearly now that he had needed to return to this spot just as much as she had. This return was a release of all the tension they had built up for twenty-one long years, the mental recovery and last hurdle that Washington could never provide. And it was this ongoing mental anguish that had contributed to the many reasons Mulder and Scully had never married, and now they had at last faced the mountain again and embraced those changes that had occurred, in the name of living for all those who had died, making the most courageous move possible in the name of the power of the human spirit to overcome adversity for mutual love, they were finally free to go on living.

"Yes," Scully said, nodding enthusiastically through her tears.

"Yes?" he repeated, as though insecure and not daring to believe.

"Hell yes," Scully repeated, and she leaned forward and kissed him.

And it was over an hour later when the family finally got back into the helicopters, having hiked down to where they had found Holly dead, and even being brave enough to hike to the rocks where Skinner and Kim had lost their lives in the blizzard. They had read and prayed for every name on the memorial, and when Monica broke the news of Mulder and Scully's engagement and Scully asked Catherine to be her bride's maid the shock - and subsequent cheering and Bill's joking remark that he was only twenty-one years late in proposing - sealed the day. And the four left the mountain with new hope, that they would continue to move on, never forgetting, but always living, and through their family and history the legacy would survive.

* * *

_And they all lived happily ever after. Seriously, I don't know what I can say about finally finishing this story. It represents 18 solid months of my life, and I can't believe I've actually reached the end, though I suppose it'll sink in in a few days' time. This story has meant more to me than any other I've written or ever contemplated, and I can only hope that I find another story in the future that means this much to me again. I want to thank all my readers who've taken the time to leave reviews, as it's you guys alone who have kept me writing to the end of this, and who have also made me believe in myself as a writer. To know that this story has meant so much to others as well is incredible, and makes me feel a little less insane in being so obsessed with it myself (LOL)._

_It's been a long road, and I didn't even put everything in! I had so many more scenes that I cut because by the time I got there they weren't relevant - like the first day of school for Lily and Chloe (Lily in pigtails and tears, clinging to Monica), but overall I'm quite happy with the end product and I hope you are too. And oh my God ... Mulder and Scully's engagement! You have no idea how many times I changed my plans for when that would occur. Originally it was scheduled to happen on their return to Washington, and Mulder summoned Scully to the X-Files office and she goes to murder him at going into work at all, only to find him ready to propose. But that was totally off when I got there because they were still so traumatised and with the insertion of Monica's suicide attempt it didn't work. Then it was going to occur on their recovery in Atlanta, once the sex problems were fixed, only I'd already had Monica & John, and Christi & Charlie get engaged, and a third was totally overkill. Then it was going to happen on the one year anniversary in Washington, only they didn't end up going because I made Monica pregnant, but I am so glad I didn't write any of those, as I like this one by far the best. I actually took myself by surprise in writing it, but hey, I think it works and I love it. Hope you do too._

_Thanks for sticking with me. Been an incredible journey._

_Love always, Anna._


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